More Things in Heaven and Earth
by Sleepwalking Dreamer
Summary: After a blown mission to recover a time-warp device hurls Mercy onto the Galapagos Islands in the year 1805, she accompanies the crew of the HMS Surprise in their final pursuit of the Acheron, hoping to accomplish her mission - and go home.
1. Chapter 1: Blown Mission

**More Things in Heaven and Earth**

_By: Sleepwalking Dreamer_

_A Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World Fan Fiction Piece_

DISCLAIMERS:

_Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World_ © Peter Weir and affiliates

Mercia di Salmileri, Alec Marvail, and other related characters © Sleepwalking Dreamer

Ami Tejada © Black Pearl Eyes

Everything else © respective owners

NOTES:

This was written on a whim, after I had watched the movie several times and been charmed to an inch of my life by James D'Arcy as Lt. Pullings. I would enjoy writing something based on the books, but since I have yet to acquire copies (they are rather difficult to find here on my side of the world), I will settle for using the movie as a basis for now. Perhaps the only thing that I am making use of that comes from the books is the fact that in my story, Dr. Stephen Maturin is an intelligence agent for England.

As for the idea of a machine that can make a breach into the past, well... I recommend that you read at least the first half of Michael Crichton's novel _Timeline_ and if you are interested, then you might want to read the references that he mentions. They are quite helpful, if a little dry - Crichton provides a better explanation in his novel. So, if you wish, you could imagine this as happening in the not-too-far future, when, I am certain, technology will be relatively more advanced.

And finally, my ideas and perceptions of the dark cloak-and-dagger world of spies, as well as my ideas concerning guns and a few types of traditional Western weaponry (though I am fairly confident with my knowledge of traditional Eastern weapons), is very limited and may border on the extremely fanciful. My education on such things has been limited to the more recent James Bond movies, the movie _xXx_, and _Rainbow Six_ by Tom Clancy. Once more I beg for your pardon, if there is anything here that does not adhere as firmly as it should to reality.

TEASER:

Mercia di Salmileri is on a mission aboard the cruise ship _Hecuba_, attempting to retrieve a new time-warp machine from the French spy who had stolen it. However, her mission is blown when the thief actually uses the device, and leaves her stranded on the Galapagos Islands, in the year 1805. There she is found, half-dead from dehydration and hunger, by Dr. Stephen Maturin of the _HMS Surprise_.

* * *

**Chapter One: Blown Mission**

She focused on her reflection in the beautiful gilt mirror of her first-class cabin, making sure that she looked as stunningly beautiful as she could. While this was not the image she wanted to project to the world, she knew that she would need all the wiles and guiles that her femininity had blessed her with tonight. She had managed to track that bastard Romelien this far. She was _not_ about to let him get away.

She took a few steps back, to check the overall picture. Since it was supposed to be a masquerade ball, she was wearing a 16th century Venetian ball gown of deep blue velvet, with a fantastical pattern in gold and silver. Her mask was an antique, made of porcelain and enameled with blue and gold.

She carefully lifted the hem of her gown, noting that the fitted black leggings she wore underneath were concealed by the rich velvet drapery of the skirt, and that not even the tips of her black shoes, which were more like ballet slippers, really, were showing. The neckline of her gown was quite low, but not so low as to reveal the neckline of the fitted black top that she was wearing beneath. When she was in the clear, she would be able to strip off the damned gown, and get to work.

But first, she had to make her appearance.

Huffing, she picked up the mask by the long stem attached to its left side, picked up her purse, and headed out the door of her cabin.

From far away, she could hear the orchestra playing a waltz - a piece by Tchaikovsky, as for as she could tell, taken from the Nutcracker Suite. While she was not that much of a fan of Tchaikovsky, preferring Beethoven and Scarlatti over all other composers, she had to admit that it was a lovely tune, and well played, too.

She drifted down the long hall, the velvet of her gown making soft whispers as it stroked the carpet beneath her feet. Other people – some were guests, but most were members of the cruise ship's staff – greeted her with smiles and courteous bows or curtsies, murmuring "Lady" or "Countess" under their breaths.

She returned their smiles with a small one of her own, occasionally nodding in response to the few whom she knew and liked. Good people were hard to find, especially in this kind of society.

Birth and circumstance dictated that she belonged amongst them. Her wealth and breeding seemed to say that she belonged nowhere else. But she had a mind of her own, and thus had a completely different opinion about the society that she walked in. There were people who would have sold their souls to walk in the circles that she did. She, on the other hand, wanted absolutely nothing to do with it - or the social aspect of it, at any rate.

She had arrived at the doors that led to the main ballroom. She paused momentarily, inhaling to steady herself. She smiled at the two stewards at the doors, and lifted the mask so that it rested just in front of her face. With that movement, the stewards pushed the doors open for her.

The music swelled louder, and this time she could hear the sound of laughter mingling with the music, accompanied by moderate conversation and the clink of champagne flutes.

She stood for a moment at the top of the stairs, scanning the area through her mask. It would not be difficult to pick out who Romelien was; she knew what he had come dressed as.

There. She had spotted him - he was dressed as a French naval officer from the Napoleonic Wars. She allowed her lips to curl into a small smirk. Always a penchant for the flamboyant, she thought. In this case, though, she knew that it would be his downfall. She could see that stupid hat from a mile away.

Knowing that she did not have a lot of time, she began her descent down the staircase. She could practically feel the dozens of eyes that were following her, a few conversations suddenly coming to a halt. It was not everyday, after all, that the reclusive Countess di Salmileri of Venice made a public appearance, and at such a formal event at that, considering how much she hated them.

But she ignored them all. She had come here on a mission, and she was _not_ going to let anything or anyone distract her from it.

It was fortunate that Romelien didn't know what her real purpose was for coming. If he had, then he probably wouldn't have been among the first in line to greet her the moment she reached the ballroom.

He arrived in the company of Count D'Abboville - a respectable man, and one of the few whom she genuinely liked. He doesn't know that he's in the company of a thief and a murderer, she thought, but it was probably for the best that Pierre knew nothing of Romelien's true line of business.

"Ah, it is such a great honor for all of us that you have chosen to grace us with your presence, dear Countess," Count D'Abboville said as he bent over her hand to kiss it. He looked rather dashing in his French cavalier uniform. "It is a rare thing that you come out of your self-imposed seclusion to join us."

She laughed at his gentle teasing. "You know my habits, Pierre," she said lightly. "These parties do not really suit me. I prefer something more relaxed, and more intimate. You are familiar with that."

D'Abboville laughed. "Ah, yes indeed, Countess." He gestured to Romelien then. "Before I go on, allow me to introduce Dr. Jacques Romelien, that brilliant scientist who has made ingenious breakthroughs in the development of quantum computers. Dr. Romelien, it is my honor to introduce the Countess Mercia Stella Fiammeta di Salmileri, perhaps the most mysterious and most beautiful young lady ever to grace Italian society in recent years."

Mercy laughed, thoroughly tickled by the Count's exaggerated description of her charms. "The Count certainly knows how to flatter a woman." She turned her gaze to Romelien, who fixed her with a look that was both measuring and admiring. "And it is a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Romelien. I have heard much of your breakthroughs in quantum electronics."

"And it is my honor to be in your presence, Countess," Romelien replied as he bent over her hand. He gave her a smile that she assumed was meant to charm, but had absolutely no effect on her. "I am surprised that you are interested in my research."

"Let us say that it is peripheral to my interest in history," Mercy replied, trying to appear as relaxed and as calm as she could.

Romelien smiled. "Ah, then I take it that you are interested in the possibility of using quantum computers to finally develop a machine that could allow us to go back in time?"

"Precisely." She glanced up at him, arranging her face so that it appeared as if she as interested. "Is it truly possible, then?"

Romelien's smile became slightly darker then. "It seems so, Countess. I have made another breakthrough in my research, and I do not think it will be much longer until we have finally developed a machine that will allow us to go back and forth through time."

"I see." She leaned closer to him, allowing her voice to drop slightly lower, to take a more seductive tone. "Talking to you in the midst of this crowd is not suited to my taste. Might I suggest that we go someplace more private?"

Romelien eyed her for a moment, one eyebrow raised to peek slightly above the white mask that he wore over his face. "Are you certain of that, Countess? Will you not be missed?"

She waved her hand elegantly. "They know my habits. I prefer to talk to people on a more personal level. I hate the pretensions and the protocol that come with gatherings like this." Well, that was true enough. She let her lips curl into a small smile. "Come now, they will not think any less of you. I have spoken to other men in private and they have emerged with their names unmarred."

She noted that Romelien's gaze had turned slightly colder. It was as if he had stepped back from her and was measuring her again, measuring her sincerity. She kept her smile frozen on her mouth, hoping that she had come off as genuine.

Apparently, today was her lucky day, because Romelien smiled back at her, and nodded. "I see. Well, if that is what the lady wants, then that is what the lady will get." He bowed to her, and held his arm out to her. She took it, and guided him back up the stairs to her cabin.

They arrived at her cabin without anyone seeing them leave. That was good, she knew, because that meant there would be fewer people to question why they had gone off. She didn't care if they thought that she and Romelien had done something less than appropriate; she was on a mission, and besides, it was most likely going to be a very long time until these people saw her again in public.

He acted like a gentleman, even going so far as to open the door for her and letting her walk in first. Had this been another time and place she would have insisted that he go first, but since he had not clue as to who she really was, or why she was really here, then she could take a risk just this one.

The interior of the cabin was dimly lit, which was perfect. She gestured to the two chairs in one corner of the cabin, and told him to wait while she went and brought some wine for them to drink while they talked.

She disappeared into a more secluded area of the cabin, one that was positioned behind the sitting area. Now that she had the bastard where she wanted him, she could move to Phase Two of the operation.

She walked over to the small dresser nearby, and slowly opened a drawer. Inside was a special multi-purpose pistol (1), one that had been created for the CIA not too long ago. It could take .44 caliber bullets, as well as other types of ammunition that had particular uses, such as tranquilizer and tracer darts. Just to make sure that she had all her bases covered, she loaded one-third of the barrel with tranquilizer darts, another one-third with tracer darts, and the final third with the bullets.

There's no way in hell that he's getting away from me, she thought coldly as she peeled off the gown that she was wearing, leaving her standing in a pair of tight-fitting black pants, black shoes with soft leather soles had been designed to emit as little sound as possible, and a long-sleeved black top. Around her waist she strapped her belt and holster, and around her calf she attached a sheath that had a small dagger in it - in case the fight got nasty and she wasn't able to reach for her gun.

With all of that accomplished, she reached for her pistol, screwing on the silencer, and then headed for the place where she had left Romelien.

It was going to end tonight. She was not going to let his crazy plans go any farther. The people of the world had no idea what sort of favor she was doing for them, but it was best if it remained that way. The less they knew, the better.

After all, what you don't know can't hurt you, she told herself.

She found Romelien still where she had left him, sitting with his back to her. She approached him slowly, raising her gun gradually in front of her. She intended to use the tranquilizer dart, since she just needed him to be asleep before she trussed him up good and searched his person for the device. If it the device were not on him, then it would not be too much trouble to get the keys to his room, and search there.

But, before she could even get close enough to him, he turned around.

She swore in her mind. Shit, that was _not_ supposed to happen, she thought. Her cover was blown; she had to do something, and quick.

"Who are you?" Romelien demanded as he got up from the chair, his hand reaching into the front of his tuxedo. She took note of the gesture, and realized that she was right: the bastard _did_ have the device on him after all!

"Who I am isn't important." She allowed her left hand to uncoil from around the handle of her gun, and held it out to him. "Give me the warp machine, and I'll let you go. Fair enough?"

He backed away from her, slowly, heading towards the wide bay windows that overlooked the sea. In the distance, she could see the dark outlines of the rocky Galapagos Islands. The cruise ship had stopped just offshore from the islands earlier that morning; to allow the guests a chance to view the islands whose unique wildlife had proven Darwin's theory of evolution.

She followed him, keeping her gun trained on the spot just between his eyes. "Come on Romelien, just give it up," she said quietly, as if talking to a jumpy, unbroken stallion. "You've got nowhere to run."

His expression changed then. Gone was the confident, self-assured doctor - in his place stood a nervous, panicky man, caught in a trap with nowhere else to go. She could tell what he was thinking as easily as she could see the sweat collecting on his upper lip: either he handed her the device, or fight her, which was not a smart thing to do, considering that she was armed, and he wasn't.

But then, he did something totally unexpected. He gave her a malicious smile, pulled the device out of his coat, and jumped out the window, breaking the glass with his shoulder.

"Shit!" She holstered her gun, and jumped out as well, following him out. She knew that she wouldn't be hurt; there was nothing but the ocean outside her window, and that would cushion her fall - as well as Romelien's.

He had turned over on his back, so that he seemed to be lying down on air, and was facing her. He smiled at her wickedly, and then pulled out the device, his thumb resting against a button on the console that was larger than all the others on it.

Before she could even shriek for him to stop, his thumb jerked, and pressed the button.

It felt as if someone had socked her violently in her gut. A powerful wave of unseen energy rammed right into the spot below her ribcage, knocking out all the air from her lungs.

But before she could even think about getting oxygen into her system, another wave hit, and this time, it hit her head.

She was out cold before she hit the water.

* * *

Days on the Galapagos were hot, and nights were cold. With minimal vegetation growing on the rocky, barren islands, the only thing that regulated the temperature and made them bearable to live on was the sea. But sometimes, even the ocean wasn't enough to control the extremes of temperature on the islands.

Midshipman Peter Calamy huddled deeper into his coat, staring at the jagged lines of the rocks, set blacker than black against the night sky. While they were relatively safe here on the Galapagos and hence no watch was needed, old habits died hard, and he found himself tossing and turning and unable to relax long enough to get some much-needed sleep. So, instead of disturbing the other, soundly sleeping midshipmen, he got up, put on his coat to keep him warm, and headed outside the tent.

He looked up at the sky, and sighed happily. It was nice to look at the stars just for what they were. A thin silver sliver of a moon hung in one corner of the starry dome, and though it provided minimal light, he was still glad for its presence. It was a quiet night, and, dare he say it, a beautiful one.

He was glad that the Captain had decided to take a week off from chasing the _Acheron_. Though Calamy knew it was out of consideration for Dr. Maturin's injury and not really concern for the rest of the crew, everyone welcomed the break, nevertheless. It gave them time to take their minds off the pursuit of the Frenchie, as well as time to eat decent meals and drink proper water. Those were small things, true, but they meant a lot, especially to men who had been out at sea for more than a month already.

So much had happened since the _Surprise_ had sailed out of Portsmouth and into the far horizon, heading towards the South American coast under orders from the Admiralty. They were to chase a French privateer named the _Acheron_, which had been preying on the English whaling fleet for quite some time already. Because of that, Captain Jack "Lucky Jack" Aubrey and his crew had gotten on the _Surprise_ and sailed off in hot pursuit.

But Calamy had not expected that the journey would turn out the way it had so far. The _Acheron_ turned out to be a more formidable foe than even Captain Aubrey had expected. Their first encounter with the Frenchie had been disastrous, and they had been forced to turn tail and hide in thick fog banks. The second time, they had been forced to run off immediately, and it was only thanks to a brilliant strategy of Captain Aubrey's that they had managed to make it out unscathed. And the third time, the fight should have been in their favor, but then they had been forced to round Cape Horn, and _that_ ended up in disaster as well - they had their mizzen and one of their crewmen in the storm they had encountered going around the Horn.

After that, it seemed disaster simply kept piling up. It was easy to replace the mast, but it was far harder to replace Warley. Calamy knew that the young man was popular amongst the men, and losing him had been hard on them. He feared somewhat that there was going to be a mutiny on the _Surprise_, but apparently they only blamed one person: Calamy's fellow midshipman, Hollom. Apparently, the men thought Hollom a "Jonah," and called him thus. Unable to take the pressure and, perhaps, driven partially insane by the heat during the doldrums they had struck as they were pursuing the _Acheron_, Hollom committed suicide by jumping into the sea with a cannonball in his hands to weigh him down.

And now the Doctor had been shot - accidentally, of course - and now they were back where they had initially planned to go after going around the Horn.

And, indeed, while Calamy was saddened by the turn of events that had led them here, he was also a little glad that things had turned out the way they did. It gave him time to rest, and, in a way, to prove his worth in the eyes of the Captain. A promotion could not be that far off, and his eyes glowed with the possibility.

Just then, a bright flash of light out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. His thoughts suddenly spun. Was it cannon fire? Had the _Acheron_ somehow found out where they were and were suddenly attacking them?

He immediately snapped his head towards the source, but just as he turned to look, it was gone. He quickly got to his feet, and waited for the deep, booming sound that usually accompanied the firing of heavy artillery, but there was no sound. He relaxed slowly, puzzled. If it was not a cannon, then what was it? Lightning, perhaps? Lightning had been known to occur, even without any thunder.

He smiled to himself as he shook his head. I really must get some rest, he thought. He was probably starting to go crazy, starting to see things that weren't really there. He must have been really tired. With that thought in mind, he headed back to the tent, intent on getting some proper rest.

* * *

(1) The pistol was inspired by the one I saw in the movie _xXx_, the one Vin Diesel's character used.


	2. Chapter 2: Stranded

**Chapter Two: Stranded**

When she woke up, the first thing she noted was that there was a rather heavy weight resting on her stomach, and that the weight was giving her already beleaguered lungs hell. The second thing she noticed was that her throat was incredibly dry, and that it only made it harder for her to breathe.

She opened her eyes slowly, allowing the bright sunlight overhead to wash over her retinas gradually. The last thing she needed was to go temporarily blind. She moved her lips, and mentally swore when she felt them crack. The wind, sun, and saltwater had played havoc on the sensitive skin while she was knocked out, and now she knew almost with certainty that doing anything that involved her mouth would be a very painful experience.

Her next concern was what was sitting on her stomach. She lifted her head slowly to see what it was exactly, and was stunned to find a rather large iguana sitting there, basking in the sun.

Bloody hell, she thought viciously as she sat up completely, making the iguana roll off her abdomen and down her legs. She would have kicked it off had she not remembered laws regarding endangered species and the like, so instead, she reached out, gingerly picked the creature up, and set it down a good distance from her limbs.

Naturally my body should give me a bloody hard time for all my troubles, she thought morosely as she got up, ignoring the pain that shot across her nerves as she struggled to get onto her feet by herself. It would have been easier if there was something nearby that she could use to pull herself up, but since there was none; she would have to do this by herself - faulty balance notwithstanding.

She also noticed that she was starting to swear like her older brother, and she knew that was _not_ a very good sign.

After she had managed to stand up, she stayed still for a few moments, allowing the still-whirling world to settle back into place. First, she had to get her bearings and find out where she was exactly. Second, she needed to establish some form of contact with her brother, let him know that the mission had gone terribly wrong, and that she would need backup. And finally, she would need to locate Romelien, and take the machine off of him. After all, he could not be _that_ far off.

When the landscape finally stopped swirling, she reached for her portable GPS machine, and checked it for any damages - not that she needed to, really. It was not one of those flimsy models that were made available for the average consumer: hers was a top-of-the-line military model that could handle rough treatment and being submerged in up to two hundred feet of water. She flicked the power switch to turn it on, and watched as the LCD screen glowed. She waited for the program to load and get a feed from the satellites, finally telling her where she was.

Much to her surprise, all she got was an error message: the GPS wasn't receiving a signal from the satellites.

She frowned. She turned the machine off, then on again. Maybe the memory banks needed to be jolted a little.

But when she got the same error message, she started to get worried. Maybe there's something interfering with the satellites, she thought, and glanced up at the sky. But the day was clear, and the weather was perfect. There was nothing that could get in the way of the satellites' beaming capacities.

So what was wrong?

She put aside her GPS, thinking again. All right, if the satellites won't work, maybe I can use radio, she thought, and reached for the small handheld radio that she carried with her. Since radios worked on frequencies, they were often able to work when satellites couldn't. As long as someone was close enough to hear - and she was certain that the _Hecuba_ still wasn't too far out of range for her radio - she would be able to contact someone.

But as she lifted it from her belt, she heard the soft, swishing sound of seawater running along the inside of the machine. The thing was never meant for use underwater, unlike her GPS machine, and the saltwater would surely have corroded all the important internal bits and pieces that made the thing work. There was no way that she would be able to use it now.

She returned the radio to her belt, fuming. She was on the beach of what appeared to be one of the rockier islands of the Galapagos, the only signs of life being the seals that lay all along the beach, and the iguanas that were sunning themselves on the black volcanic rock that made up the island. She knew that she wouldn't starve, because the sea was rich with fish and other forms of marine life that she could subsist on. And she knew that she would be able to survive through the night - after all, there was nothing on the Galapagos that was large enough to eat her, and she was quite sure that there would be caves and crevices amongst the rocks where she could take shelter during the night.

But what worried her was the fact that there was no water - at least, not where _she_ was standing.

She shook her head. It didn't matter. She would be able to find some - if she started moving immediately. Hopefully, while she walked, she would be able to find a spring, or at least some cacti or aloes from which to suck some moisture.

Sighing, she checked the leather soles of her shoes. She knew that they wouldn't last long over the rough terrain, but she had no choice. She would reinforce them when she found something suitable for the job. Right now, she had to start walking if she wanted to find water soon.

And already, she was feeling rather thirsty.

* * *

The sun was already quite high when Dr. Stephen Maturin decided that it would be a wise thing to pause for a drink and a meal. He glanced over his shoulder, watching as Padeen and Lord Blakeney trudged towards him, both looking quite tired.

He turned around more fully, and smiled at them. "I think we should stop and rest for a moment, before we proceed."

The statement as greeted by relieved sighs from both, and Stephen had to chuckle at that. Well, they _had_ been walking for quite a while, and they had put up with him for all that time. They deserved the rest.

He looked around, and noticed a crevice at the base of a large chunk of volcanic rock, shaded by a convenient overhang. He pointed it out to his companions, smiling at them. "I suppose that it would be best to go there and take advantage of the shade."

The three of them made good progress over the relatively flat basaltic rock underneath their feet, and in no time they were seated quite comfortably in the shade of the overhang. They really had not gotten that far, and Stephen could still see, in the distance, the smoke rising from the campfires back where they had started, and, out to sea, a tiny dot that was the _Surprise_.

"Are you alright, sir?"

Stephen looked up, and smiled upon seeing the concerned face of the young William Blakeney. "I am quite fine, Mr. Blakeney." He gestured to the satchel that contained their food. "Now then, shall we?"

They proceeded to dig into their meal - a simple one of cheese, bread, and water - all the while discussing the strange creatures and plants that they had found on this, their first day on the Galapagos. Stephen took the time to skim through the notes that Blakeney had made, and he was pleased to see that the boy was starting to develop a sure hand for drawing, and a keen eye for detail and observations. True, he was still a little bit raw around the edges as a naturalist, but that was always easily remedied.

Blakeney learns quickly, he mused, reading the boy's notes on one of the beetles that he had found underneath a slab of rock. William Blakeney, son of Lord Blakeney, was a sweet-faced, charming young lad, and it almost seemed that he did not belong to the harsh, hard life of the Navy. But there was obviously an inner toughness beneath that cherub face, and the boy was proving himself to be an effective leader. He still had some ways to go before he became a lieutenant, but he was already well on his way.

Just then, Stephen felt grit and pebbles collide against the nape of his neck. He ignored it, thinking that it was just the action of the wind at the top of the rocks. But when it happened again, he started to look up. "Blakeney, are you alright?" The boy had lost his arm during their first encounter with the _Acheron_, and Stephen was worried that if Blakeney got it into his head to start climbing the rock in order to reach something, he could end up breaking his leg - or worse, his neck.

"Yes sir."

Stephen turned his head, and noticed that Blakeney was still sitting where he had been all that time. The next person to look for was Padeen, but he was there as well. He blinked. Then what had caused the little tumble of pebbles?

More grit came falling this time, and Stephen knew that something was wrong. He hobbled out of the shade, and looked up the rock face, hoping to find out just what was wrong.

As an answer, something long and dressed all in black tumbled down the rock face, and rolled across the surface of the overhang to land at his feet.

He immediately recognized it as a person. "My God..."

"Doctor, what happened?" Blakeney and Padeen jogged up to him then, concerned.

Stephen waved them off. "I'm fine, quite fine. Nothing hurt." His instincts, however, caused him to reach out, and roll the person over, so that he would be able to see the face.

He was stunned to see that it was a young woman, gripped in the throes of heatstroke and dehydration, and bleeding from the soles of her feet. He knew that they had little time for dawdling.

"Padeen, bring me the water," he said then, running over in his mind the things that needed to be done. "Blakeney, go and find some sturdy pieces of wood - branches, anything - that we can use to make a litter. We need to bring her back to camp." He touched the young woman's forehead, and winced. She was burning with fever - a sure sign that the heatstroke was at an advanced stage.

They didn't have a lot of time.

* * *

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:

**Miss Flossy** – Thank you for being the first to review, as well as for the positive nature of said review. Do not worry; as you can see, I have finished the second chapter, and am attempting to write a beginning for the third. Updates might be slow in coming, as I am terribly busy with the work I have to do for university, but I will try to update as often as is humanly possible on my part, and on the part of my Muse as well.

**Bean02** – Thank you for finding the time to read my story, though it is my first for the _Master and Commander_ fandom. Yes, _Timeline_ was a thoroughly intriguing book, though I will have to agree with you when you said that the movie did not do it justice. The best part about it – in my opinion, at least – was the appearance of Gerard Butler as Marek (though, if my memory serves me right, Marek wasn't Scottish, originally). He and James D'Arcy are simply two of the men in my list of actors whom I find completely adorable.

**Ladyofthelake13** – Thank you for the compliment. I will try to update as often as my schoolwork and the frivolous nature of my Muse will allow me.

**MusicBoxDancer** – Thank you as well for thinking my story intriguing. I cannot pinpoint the exact year Mercy comes from, but I can safely put it beyond the year 2015. I am more or less certain that by that time, research in quantum physics and its technological application will be advanced enough to suggest the development of a "time machine" as described in _Timeline_. I do not want to put her too far into the future, but the years beyond 2015 should still be relatively like our own, though with more advanced technology than what we have now.

**TheMusingFit** – Thank you for reviewing, and for thinking my story an intriguing one. As you can see, I have updated. Though this is a short chapter in comparison to the first one, I hope that you will find this an interesting one nevertheless.


	3. Chapter 3: Awakening and Awareness

**Chapter Three: Awakening and Awareness**

She drifted in and out of consciousness, the world constantly remaining a swimming haze all around her. Faces drifted in and out of her line of sight, like fishes darting out of the way and moving back in when they thought she was not looking. Scenery formed and dissolved as though in a dream - or a drug-induced hallucination.

She remembered the sensation of being lifted up, and the gentle swaying of something like a hammock. Moments later, she found herself lying in a tent, and felt a dull sensation against the soles of her feet as her shoes were taken off. She tried to protest, but it seemed as if she wasn't getting herself heard, so she just ignored it and closed her eyes.

She floated in unconsciousness for a long while, and when she came to she still felt a heavy shroud of sluggishness across her brain. She noticed someone sitting on something next to her - a man who looked like he was in his late thirties or early forties. He had a pair of wire-rim glasses perched on his nose as he turned the pages of a book. She assumed that he was the doctor, so she allowed herself to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

She was slow in waking up. They must have me dosed up pretty good with morphine, she thought with a small smile as she rolled over onto her side, surprised - and relieved - that there was no pain. She would have to thank the doctor when he came in to check up on her - before she had her talk with Alec, of course.

"Ah, you seem to be awake, my dear."

She blinked slightly at the accent. A Brit? She allowed herself to shrug mentally. He was probably one of Alec's friends, then.

And then, it was as if the pleasant haze on her mind was suddenly lifted off, and everything was revealed to her in stark reality. She suddenly felt the pain stabbing up her legs, and she hissed, remembering that her shoes had been cut to shreds as she had climbed up and down the sharp rocks of the Galapagos.

Moaning, she dropped back to the bed, squeezing her eyes shut. She sensed the man whom she assumed was the doctor leaning over her.

"My dear, are you alright?"

Only once I kick Alec where it hurts the most, she thought in between bolts of agony - it felt like stiletto daggers were being driven repeatedly into the soles of her feet. Though she knew that it was not Alec's fault that her mission had gone completely wrong, at the moment, she really didn't care. She was in _pain_, and in her opinion, it was entirely her brother's fault, because he sent her on this mission to begin with.

"Doctor," she gritted out between tightly clenched teeth, "could you go out, and bring my brother in here?"

The doctor seemed puzzled, if the tone in his voice was any indication. "Your...brother?"

"Yeah. He's a tall fellow, with reddish-blonde hair and green eyes. Could you bring the asshole in here, so I can give him a good, hard kick?" She paused, and groaned, remembering that she was in no condition to do any kicking at the moment.

Well then, there was only one solution to that: get someone else to do the kicking.

"Oh, and while you're at it, could you bring in his fiancée too? She's a petite girl, with black hair and dark eyes - hard to miss: looks like a gypsy. Could you bring the two of them in here, so I can ask my future sister-in-law to kick my brother in the nuts?"

The doctor _must_ have been a Brit, if the rather shocked silence that followed her words was any indication. The response to her request was polite. "I will see what I can do, my dear."

She heard footsteps padding out her immediate hearing range, and she heard the sound of canvas flapping as it was lifted and let go.

Her eyes shot open then, all pain forgotten. What was canvas doing in a hospital? She _was_ in a hospital, wasn't she?

Wasn't she?

* * *

Stephen could not help but wince as an explosion of curses in the Italian language filtered through the thick canvas of the tent behind him. He cleared his throat, and straightened his stance, attempting to ignore the young woman's swearing and compose himself.

He looked up, and headed towards where Aubrey, the officers and midshipmen were standing. At a respectable distance were the other men - far enough so that they would not hear the conversation of their superiors so long as said superiors spoke quietly, but not nearly far enough so as not to hear the cursing in the tent, which had gone rapidly from Italian to another language that Stephen was entirely unfamiliar with – and for which he was rather grateful.

Jack Aubrey, captain of the _Surprise_, raised an eyebrow as he approached. "The young lady did not seem very happy to see you."

"No, though she did mention something about wanting to have her future sister-in-law kick her brother in the nuts. Those were her words, not mine."

Stephen felt a collective wince pass through all those gathered around him at his words, and he honestly could say that he sympathized with them.

Lt. William Mowett glanced over Stephen's shoulder at the tent, where the voice was still blustering on. "I truly cannot imagine how a young woman can say such things."

"Oh, believe me, it is quite possible," Stephen muttered, twitching as the language shifted back to Italian, a language he understood - much to his misery, or so he liked to believe.

Jack looked at him then, his expression showing that he would not tolerate any dilution of the truth. "Is she Italian?"

Stephen knew why his friend had asked that question: the allegiance of the Italians seemed to be firmly with Bonaparte, and if the young woman were indeed Italian, they would have to be more cautious around her. For all they knew, she was an informant for the French.

In the end, Stephen replied thusly: "It would appear that she is, though I would not be so hasty as to consider her a spy." He glanced up at Jack, his eyes carrying a warning. "I ask for discretion in this case, Jack. We are not certain whether she is really an agent for the French. There are many innocents caught up in this war."

Mr. Allen snorted. "Innocent? While I respect your desire to be humane to the lady, Doctor, I think that it would not be wise to give her too many liberties."

Stephen nodded. "And I agree with that, Mr. Allen. I only wish that she be treated properly, as she deserves to be treated. She is a lady, regardless of her nationality, and I want to ensure that she is treated accordingly." He glanced at Jack again. "If we treat her well, she might be more willing to cooperate with us than if we were to do otherwise."

Jack nodded thoughtfully, and moved as if to speak, but then, this was interrupted by a loud slapping sound as human flesh swatted canvas out of the way.

"Alright, what the _hell_ is going on?"

Stephen turned around, and watched as the young woman marched out of the tent. She was wincing from the cuts on the soles of her feet, but whatever pain she was feeling must have only sharpened her tongue, because she continued to speak rapidly. She looked around, taking in their camp, and her eyes were blazing so ferociously that Stephen though that if her gaze lingered on anything, even for a moment, the unfortunate object or person would go up in flames.

She cuts a rather...unusual figure, Stephen thought, watching as the young woman stood there at the entrance of the tent, hands on her hips, feet planted firmly apart as she scanned the surrounding vicinity. She was rather small in comparison to some of the other ladies whom Stephen had met, and finer-boned than many of them. Her hair was long and dark, freed from the braid Stephen had undone when he first found her. The strands flowed straight down to the bottom of her shoulder blades, framing a face that could have, at first glance, been mistaken for a child's, if only because of the roundness of her eyes and the upturned, babyish angle of her nose.

However, her body made it known to all that she was _not_ a child. Dressed as she was in a tightly fitted black shirt and trousers that clung impossibly to her body, the lush curves of a full-fledged woman were clearly seen by everyone who looked at her. And what was more; she did not seem at all ashamed of it. She was comfortable in her own skin, and did not seem at all bothered by the fact that she was currently surrounded by men who had not seen a woman in more than a month - unless one counted the _Surprise's_ figurehead, of course, but Stephen preferred not to go there.

Her scathing gaze roamed across the faces of the crew, who seemed too stunned to comment on how she looked. "What the hell is this? The set of a period movie or something?"

When nobody responded, her eyes narrowed, and she groaned. "Oh great, this is just _fucking_ great. Here I thought Alec would have come over to get me out by now, but _no_, the jackass leaves me here to rot while in the meantime,_ Pirates of the Caribbean: Part Four_ is being shot all around me." She raised her eyes skywards imploringly. "God, what in the world have I done to warrant this much torture, huh? I don't ask for much, right? Right now, could you just give me a working cell phone, or at least a decent boat, so I can get to the mainland, catch the next flight back to Italy, and find my idiot of a half-brother so I can have him singing like Farinelli the rest of his life?"

Stephen felt another shudder pass through him. This girl had a sharper tongue than all of the women he had ever met and encountered, and that was saying something. Judging from the casual, off-handed way she had mentioned the name of Farinelli, who was reputed to be one of the greatest opera singers ever, she was a well-educated and cultured woman. However, the way she was talking seemed to contradict that.

And there were some things she had mentioned in her tirade that did not seem to fit. For one, Stephen wondered what a "cell phone" was, or how one could "catch a flight" to Italy. Neither did he understand what she meant by "set of a period movie." There were so many things in what she had said that did not add up, that even he was almost inclined to think that the heatstroke had gone straight to her brain and left her deranged.

Another thing that did not seem to add up at all was her accent. One moment she was talking in Italian, and now, when she spoke English, it was in an American accent - a Yankee accent. Now there was really no love lost between the Yankees and the British, all things being considered, and now he was doubly cautious - as well as doubly curious - about this strange woman.

At length, the young woman marched up to where he and his companions stood apart, her eyes showing just how irritated she was - and how much pain her wounded feet were causing her. "Alright, I am sick and tired of this. Could someone _please_ lend me their cell phone, or, at the very least, point out the nearest mode of transportation out of here, so I can get back home?"

An uneasy silence settled in as the officers looked at one another. How did they respond to these questions, considering that they did not know what it was she meant? The only mode of transportation that they had was the _Surprise_, but she talked as if she expected something else, something other than just a frigate.

Stephen decided to take action. Clearing his throat, he waited for the young woman to focus on him, before he said: "Unfortunately madam, we do not have...cell phones, as you called them...with us, and the only means of transportation that we have is that ship." Here, he pointed to where the _Surprise_ floated in the bay. "Unfortunately, at the moment we cannot leave this island, since our business here has not yet been concluded."

"What do you mean, 'business'? You mean you aren't finished shooting your movie? And don't lie to me: everyone has cell phones these days, and considering that you folks are all the way out here, you would need something to keep in touch with the other people in the mainland." She narrowed her eyes at him. "Look mister, the only thing I'm asking for is a boat that will take me to Quito (1) so that I can arrange for a flight to Lima, and from there I'll find my way back to Europe. And I don't think that you can shoot a movie here without a supply link to the mainland. At the very least, someone lend me a phone so I can call my brother and have him arrange for someone to pick me up from here so I can leave you guys to do whatever it is you're doing.

"I'm sure you don't want me here to interfere with your 'business,' and I can assure you that I don't want to be here either. So, if you would be so kind, could you please, _please_, just put me on a boat so I can _leave_? Or at least lend me a _phone_?"

Stephen sighed; this was getting to be rather difficult. "I do not think you understand, madam," he said in a calm, controlled voice. "You are on the Galapagos Islands, standing before the captain and officers of the _HMS Surprise_."

"The _HMS Surpise_? But wasn't that ship retired in- Oh no." Recognition flickered in the woman's eyes. She looked at Jack, as if for confirmation of what Stephen had just told her. "You mean to tell me that that ship," she pointed towards the bay, "is the _Surprise_?" Her voice, when she asked that question, was suddenly slow and hesitant, tinged with disbelief.

Jack nodded. "Yes, madam. And I am the captain of the _Surprise_, Jack-"

"Aubrey," the woman finished, her voice hushed - a marked contrast from what she had been doing only moments ago. She slowly turned to look at the frigate, then at the men and officers, and finally, at Stephen.

Her eyes were wide, almost painfully so, in Stephen's opinion. It was a look he knew rather well: a look of pure, unadulterated terror. "Sir, I just need to ask: what year is it?"

"It is the year 1805, madam," Stephen replied, though he was rather puzzled by that question. What did that have to do with anything? And why did she seem to fear the answer so?

The woman's mouth fell open, a small, horrified gasp emerging from her parted lips. "Oh no…" She slowly sank to the ground, as if her legs no longer had the strength to support her, her eyes staring straight ahead.

Stephen knelt down immediately, concerned. "What is wrong, madam?"

The woman shook her head; her cheeks so pale all of a sudden, her skin cold and clammy to his touch. "No… No way... It was... So it was actually... But it was...and he..."

Stephen gripped her by the upper arms, shaking her gently to bring her back to her senses. "Madam, what is the matter? What is it about the year that frightens you so?"

She looked up at him then, her pupils so dilated that it felt to Stephen as if he was staring into two deep pits ringed with a small circle of dark brown. Trembling, she clutched her knees with her hands, the knuckles turning white with the force.

"I am screwed," she murmured to him, her voice soft, but quavering with a deep-seated dread that made even Stephen shiver. "I am _so_ screwed."

* * *

(1) – Quito is the capital of Ecuador. According to the most recent map that I checked, the Galapagos Islands are Ecuadorian territory.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:

**Bean02** – Yes, Mercy is indeed having a very rough day. As you can see, she has met people – disastrous though it has turned out to be. Poor Stephen though…the man's ears must be burning now, given that he can understand all the swearing that Mercy has done in Italian.

**Miss Flossy** – Yes, I know that iguanas and tortoises are edible. However, it is also interesting to remember that nowadays, such exotic foodstuffs are illegal – a fact of which Mercy is quite aware of. However, I will speak no further of that, since it would mean giving away something I have lined up for the next chapter (or the fifth, I am still deciding on that point).

And yes, I know I did mention that I found Mr. D'Arcy very charming, and yes, I am aware that he coped very well with Olivia in Bean's _To Wives and Sweethearts_. However, whether or not Mercy falls into Pullings' "waiting arms" is something I have yet to decide upon.

Oh, and as for the recent events in _Abbotsleigh Park,_ let me just say that I am very glad for how Admiral Mowett has pulled himself together. It is about time, and his children deserve that much, at least. Now then, I am still waiting for when Pullings finally ravishes Charlotte – shall we finally get to see that in the next chapter? I certainly hope so.

**MusicBoxDancer** – Yes, as you can see, Stephen _has_ helped her, though he is also very much puzzled by what and who she is. Certainly Stephen has a large role to play in the coming chapters, since he is the only one with a truly scientifically inclined mind on the ship, and hence, the most qualified to understand how Mercy appeared. I hope that you enjoyed his scene in this chapter.

**Belphegor** – Thank you for saying that this story is shaping out perfectly.

As you have seen in this chapter, Mercy's first reaction is rather…painful. Of course, that could be because of the fact that her feet are cut and bleeding, but it is also because of the fact that she has been dropped into a situation she is completely unfamiliar with, her love and familiarity of history notwithstanding.

And yes, you are correct: Mercy is Venetian, though her last name, di Salmileri, is just a name I made up. No such family exists. If there is indeed one, well then, let us consider it an artistic coincidence, shall we?

I did some research on what you mentioned about Italy's standing during the Napoleonic Wars, and you are right. Napoleon conquered Venice, bringing an end to its "Golden Age." Afterwards, Venice was handed over to Austria and became a part of the Kingdom of Lombardy-Venetia when Napoleon signed the Treaty of Campo Formio on October 12, 1797. It was during the following year, on January 18, 1798, that the Austrians officially moved in to occupy _La Serenissima._ However, in 1805 Venice was taken out of Austrian control by the Treaty of Pressburg (which was signed on December 26, 1805), and was made a part of Napoleon's Kingdom of Italy, starting from 1805 until Napoleon's defeat in 1814.

The events of the movie are supposed to have taken place on April 1805 – that would mean that Venice was still in the hands of the Austrians. While there seems to have been a problem between Austria and France (the reason why the Treaty of Pressburg took place to begin with), I believe that as far as the British are concerned, Venice is Austrian property, and since Austria and France were allies, anyone from Venice would most likely be on Napoleon's side.

**Noelle Pico** – I _have_ coughed it up! See? Lots of Maturin in there, and there will be more to come, most likely. And yes, Alec is to blame for _everything..._


	4. Chapter 4: Truth and Lies

**Chapter Four: Truth and Lies**

"_God-fucking-dammit_!"

Jack twitched slightly upon hearing those words. He glanced at the young woman who had just said them, amazed that someone like her would be able to swear as fluently as any of his men. She was currently sitting in a chair, her feet propped up as Stephen carefully removed the grit and dirt that had accrued to her cut and bleeding soles when she had left the tent where Stephen had treated her for her heatstroke. She had turned her head away from what Stephen was doing, and instead gripped the edge of the stool with all her might.

"I am almost done," Stephen murmured as he dipped his tweezers into a nearby bowl of water, which was now a bright red in shade, instead of the normal clear color. "Not much longer now."

The young woman snarled a response in Italian, and whatever it had been Stephen merely ignored it. And then she added, in a somewhat softer voice, though still laden with as much venom as her first words: "I could sue you for malpractice, Dr. Maturin - if there _are_ such things as malpractice suits in this day and age."

"I am sure you would, my dear." Stephen finally set aside the tweezers, and picked up a small jar. Dipping his fingers into it, he pulled up a glob of some foul-looking stuff that he slathered onto the raw - but clean - wounds. After he did so, he picked up a long strip of gauze, and wrapped that around the young woman's feet. "There now, all finished."

The woman looked at her feet, and then raised her gaze to look at Stephen. Her eyes were narrowed almost to slits, and Jack could not mistake the suspicion in them. "What was that shit you put on my feet?"

Jack had to admire the man's patience, because the good doctor merely quirked a small smile. "I do not think that you would want to know. Nevertheless, it will help your skin heal more quickly, and, as long as you keep off your feet for the next two days, you will be well enough to walk on the third."

The woman groaned. "I don't know what's worse: the fact that I can hardly feel my feet right now - though that's probably a good thing - or the fact that I'll be sitting here doing _nothing_."

"And would that be such a bad thing?" Jack inquired mildly, causing the woman to turn her gaze to him. "I had assumed that you would enjoy merely lying in bed."

The woman's eyebrow twitched in irritation. "Excuse me, but I don't remember asking for _your_ opinion."

Jack narrowed his own eyes right back at her. "I will not take such disrespectful talk from you, madam."

Much to his surprise, the young woman simply sighed wearily, and allowed her shoulders to slump. "Sorry about that," she muttered. "I just hate feeling pain, you know? It makes my temper rise right to the rafters."

"Indeed." Jack had to agree - she did have a very volatile temper. Much like my own, in fact, he thought, and suppressed the smile that attempted to make its presence known.

He cleared his throat, signaling a change of topic, and said: "Well then, now that the doctor has treated you and seen to your injuries, I think that explanations are in order." He glanced at one of the Marines, who stood nearby. "Please call Mr. Pullings, Mr. Mowett, Mr. Howard and Mr. Allen. Tell them that I require their presence here immediately."

As the Marine moved to obey his order, he crossed to the other end of the tent, and pulled up a stool. He placed it directly in front of the young woman, who was in the process of accepting a cup of water from Stephen.

As the doctor told his patient what she should and should not do in the coming days, Jack took this time to observe her. Now that she had calmed down somewhat and was no longer swearing like a she-devil, he noticed that she was probably one of the most assertive women he had ever met in his life. It was obvious, from the way she moved and talked, that she was used to dealing with men on equal footing - perhaps even talking down to them, on occasion. Her movements were easy and assured, showing that she was comfortable being around others, and did not have a shy bone in her body - or if she did, it was very well hidden.

He also noticed that, underneath the body-hugging clothes that she wore, her muscles were well toned and somewhat defined, though not in the same way as the muscles of a man would be pronounced. Her build was athletic rather than muscular, reminding him of the sculptures of Spartan women, or perhaps statues of the goddess Diana. This told him that she could hold her own in a fight, though _how_ far was something he was not so certain of.

She was sure of herself, and, so he believed, quite intelligent, because confidence like hers did not come to those who were dull and uneducated.

What puzzled him, however, was the fact that while most of these qualities were admirable in a woman, she seemed to have a rather inordinate amount of them in her personality.

Just then, the other officers filed into the tent. They cast suspicious and wary glances at the young woman, before moving to stand around Jack.

The woman eyed the officers, and smirked. "What's the goon squad for? To scare me into submission or something?"

Stephen cast a withering gaze at her. "I wish that you would not think us so wicked as to 'scare you into submission,' madam."

She shrugged, and responded to Stephen's statement, though she did not take her eyes off Jack: "Hey, when you're in my line of business, it's always a good idea to be prepared for anything."

"Which brings us to the matter at hand," Jack stated then. He leaned forward slightly. "I will be blunt, madam. We would like to know who you are, where you are from, and what your business is in this area."

The woman raised an eyebrow, and leaned back slightly, crossing her arms as she did so. "Ah. _Those_." She paused thoughtfully. "You know, under normal circumstances, it'd take a lot more than a simple verbal demand to get such sensitive information out of me."

"And why would such information be sensitive?" Jack asked.

"Simply because." She sighed, and shook her head. "But since these are extraordinary circumstances, I think that it will be okay to tell you." She breathed in, exhaled slowly, and then looked up. "My name is Mercia Stella Fiammeta di Salmileri. I am a free agent, working for an organization that strives to safeguard the world by working in the shadows. My mission is classified."

Jack raised an eyebrow. The way she responded clearly indicated that she was from the military, or, at the very least, military-trained. The business-like way that she gave her name and her status all showed that she had undergone training, but most likely not in the Navy.

Stephen spoke up then. "What do you mean, your mission is 'classified'?"

"It means that I am not to give anyone the details of my mission unless they have the proper clearance - clearance that you don't have, I'm sure." She tilted her head slightly. "It's one thing to know my name and line of work; it's an entirely different thing to know what exactly I am supposed to do."

Jack smirked. "Unfortunately, madam, I do not think that is an option for you at the moment." He leaned forward slightly. "We are in the middle of a war, madam."

"Yes, I know. Against Napoleon."

"Indeed. Now then, since you seem to have some understanding of how the military works, I can assume that you are not completely unaware of what is done to spies." His eyes narrowed slightly, almost wickedly, at her. "You may not tell us what your mission is, and we will be forced to assume that you are a spy against England - an accusation that most people will not take lightly, and which may make life very difficult for you."

Her eyes narrowed. "I don't work for any government. I'm a free agent - that means I work for no one except my superior."

"That, madam, does not count for much in your situation, I am afraid," Jack told her, allowing himself to tinge his voice with amusement, as he continued: "On the other hand you may tell us what your business is here, and if we are so inclined, we may even go out of our way to help you." He leaned back, and smiled. "Now then, it is up to you to decide what it is you wish to do."

* * *

Mercy glared at Jack Aubrey, not liking this situation at all. She had been in similar situations before, and she had always been able to get out before they had gotten any information out of her, but _this_ was an entirely different pickle. First of all, she wouldn't be able to leave the island, since as far as she could remember, the mainland wasn't very near to the Galapagos, and that meant swimming from the island to the mainland was completely out of the question. And even if she _did_ find a way to get herself to the mainland safely, where would she go? The time warp device was still with Romelien, and, if her assumptions were correct, he should still be on the island.

On the other hand, she could be going completely against protocol if she told these people her mission. As she said, it was one thing to say her name and her job, but it was another thing to tell them what she had come for. She felt that, even if she told them what she was supposed to do, they weren't going to believe her anyway. Her chances of being locked up in the bottom of their ship because they considered her crazy were the same as her chances of them helping her. But that would _still_ mean telling them what she had come for.

I'm damned if I do, and damned if I don't, she thought with a grimace, recalling Alec's favorite phrase when it came to dealing with her and his fiancée and Mercy's best friend, Ami Tejada. While she was in no mood to be using any of Alec's words, the situation at the moment called for it.

She sighed. I might as well take a chance and hope for the best, she thought as she looked up at Aubrey. "Let's make a deal, okay?" She slapped her hands against her lap. "_Lamesa_ (1)."

Jack blinked. "Excuse me?"

"_Lamesa_. It means 'table'. Whatever I say to you people, none of it leaves the table."

One of the lieutenants - a rather tall, handsome fellow with dark hair, green eyes, and a scar across his face - blinked at her. "But madam, there _is_ no table."

Mercy rolled her eyes irritably, and glared at him. "What I meant was, whatever I say here and now does not get mentioned to anyone else except for those who are currently present. Nothing leaves the four walls of this tent. Do you get that?"

"Mr. Pullings understands your terms," Jack assured her then, sparing a momentary glance at the lieutenant, who blushed and looked away, ashamed. "And now that you have our assurance that we shall never mention whatever is said here and now, will you tell us why you are here?"

Mercy sighed, and rubbed the bridge of her nose gently, knowing that a headache was imminent. "Well, it's a long story, but as they say, the best place to start a long story is at the beginning. So, here's how it all started..."

And so she told them. She told them how her brother, Alec Marvail, sent her to track down Dr. Jacques Romelien, a French doctor and spy who had stolen a newly developed machine that allowed anyone to go back in time, at any point in history, with a push of a button. She told them what had happened, how she had lured Romelien into her cabin on the cruise ship _Hecuba_, and had planned to make him give her the machine, or kill him and then take it, before he did something very stupid. And then she told them, much to her chagrin, how Romelien had jumped out the window, and how she had followed him, only to watch, helpless, as he pushed the button on the machine.

"And _that_ is how I got here," she finished. "Now I have to find Romelien, take the damned device off of him, and send the both of us back to our time. I assume that he's still on this island, and if that's the case, then that means I can still catch him, take that device off of him, and then send the both of us back to _our_ time."

A long, long silence followed her words. The men were now staring at her as if she had gone completely crazy. She sighed, and closed her eyes. Why was she not surprised?

"Impossible."

She opened her eyes, and glanced at the Jack. "Huh? You said something?"

"I said that it was impossible," Jack replied as he got up, and began pacing whatever length of floor there was in front of her. "What you speak of - this concept of 'time travel' or whatever it is that you are saying - is nothing more than fanciful hogwash." He smirked at her. "Have you ever considered becoming a writer, Lady di Salmileri? You have a very lively imagination."

She rolled her eyes. "I don't expect you to believe me right away. All I'm saying is that that is how I got here, and that there is no other way I could have gotten here except that."

"But just how exactly-"

She raised her hand, indicating that Jack should stop. "I can't tell you everything, since I don't understand anything more than the basic premises of quantum physics. I'll just say that it is all in the mathematics - well, most of it anyway. And in chemistry too, now that I really think about it."

Just then, a man in his late thirties to early forties and dressed in the red coat that marked him as a member of the Royal Marines, asked: "If you are from the future, as you claim to be, will you tell us whether Napoleon shall win the war or not?"

"I can't tell you that either," she replied. "Sure, I know who will win this war, but I'm not going to tell you, because I will be doing more harm than good."

"And why not?" The man who said this was a rather sweet-faced one in his late twenties or so, and who reminded Mercy of a teddy bear she used to own when she was a little girl. "Imagine the number of lives you would spare by telling us the outcome."

She shook her head. These people simply did not get it, did they? "No one deserves to die. I'll agree on that point, especially if it is an innocent person. But speaking as one who comes from the future, these people are _supposed_ to die. One small change in the course of events, and that could mean disaster for everyone - both for those people in this time and in mine. So while I do not mean to be cold, I am not telling you anything about the events that are to come, and I am not going to stop anyone from dying."

Dr. Maturin sighed then. "She's right, Mr. Mowett." He glanced at her, and offered a small smile. "I do not truly understand how you could have gotten here through the vastness of time and space, and I would certainly like to know how you did it. It would prove many of the vague theories that have appeared in some scientific journals."

Mercy flashed a small, half-smile at the doctor in gratitude. It was only then that she remembered how much verbal abuse she had been giving him. She would thank him, and apologize - later.

"Now then, I think it would be a good thing to let the young lady rest." Dr. Maturin made a gesture, indicating that everyone should leave the tent. When Jack did not move, he frowned. "You too Jack."

Jack made a small sound of assent, and lifted his hands, indicating that he was surrendering to the good doctor's request. With a smile at the doctor and a nod at her, he exited the tent.

Mercy sighed, and closed her eyes, rubbing them with her fingers. There was nothing to be done now: she had told them the truth, and all she could do was wait for them to actually decide on what their course of action would be.

"They seem to have tired you out."

Mercy shifted her fingers, and peered between them at Dr. Maturin. "You said something?"

The doctor smiled at her as he sat down in the stool that Jack had occupied earlier. "I said: we seem to have tired you out." He nodded towards the exit of the tent. "Forgive Jack. He is a naturally stubborn man. You cannot imagine how difficult it is to deal with him at times."

Mercy chortled. "Yeah, I think I can." She lowered her hands, and looked at the doctor straight in the eye. "Dr. Maturin-"

"Call me Stephen, please."

"Alright then. Stephen, I'd like to apologize for being so difficult and rude." She offered a small, sheepish smile. "I can get like that when I'm in pain. And I guess, me wanting to avoid getting hurt has made me good at what I do."

Dr. Maturin - Stephen - nodded. "I suppose I can understand that. Various people have various ways of dealing with pain, whether physical or otherwise." He smiled at her. "And do not worry about the things you have said and done. I have dealt with far worse, I assure you."

She allowed herself to laugh at that. "Alright, if you say so."

Stephen nodded, and then stood up, moving towards her. "Come along, then. It is time that I put you to bed."

"Hey, I'm not a little girl, you know," Mercy sniffed, putting on an offended air, though she knew that he knew she as just teasing. She tried to stand up, but was unable to do so because of the lack of feeling in her feet.

"Let me remind you that _I_ am the doctor here, and thus know better." He helped her to her feet, and supported her as he led her, hobbling, to the nearby cot.

She stuck her tongue out at him, but grinned right after as she sat down on the cot. It was a little hard, by her standards, but who was she to complain? She had had to make do without a bed before. At least, this was better than sleeping outside.

Stephen smiled satisfactorily as he gently lifted her legs, and placed them on the cot. "There. Now then, I suggest that you go and get some sleep. You seem to have had precious little of it, considering everything that has happened to you, and you do need your rest in order to recuperate. If you sleep through until supper, I will come here myself and bring you some food, or if I cannot, I will send someone else to do so."

Mercy nodded, knowing that either way, she wouldn't be able to argue. "Okay, that's fine by me."

Stephen smiled, and nodded one last time before he exited the tent.

Left alone, Mercy sighed, and lay down on the cot, resting her head against the somewhat lumpy pillow. She stared up at the ceiling of the tent, and wondered just what she had gotten herself into when she told these people practically everything that had to do with the mission - information that was _not_ supposed to get out.

In the end, she mentally shrugged, and turned over so that she was lying on her side. There was nothing she could do now; everything was completely out of her hands. The only thing she could do, was wait, and cross her fingers.

* * *

(1) - This is a Pilipino word, and means, "table," as Mercy has translated. As some people who have some knowledge of Spanish will notice, the word "lamesa" is actually a composite of "la mesa," which means "the table" in Spanish. This is not surprising, since the Philippines was once a Spanish colony, and was held as such for more than three hundred years, and hence, as often happens in countries that were once colonies of other countries, the colonizers' language is bastardized and adapted to suit the needs of the those who have been colonized.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:

**Bean02** – I am glad that you are enjoying my story thus far. Yes, Mercy does indeed swear in multiple languages: English (since that seems to be the general language spoken in most countries nowadays), Italian (her father's language), and Pilipino (her mother's language). And yes, we must indeed pity Stephen's ears. It must have been torture for him that he could understand a greater majority of Mercy's speech in Italian, since she can say some very unpleasant things in the language. I am relatively glad that he does not understand Pilipino, since Mercy can say some extremely foul things in that language too.

**ArcherofDarkness** – I thank you for thinking that my original character is well rounded, and for thinking that the story has great detail. I try to put in as much detail as is humanly possible without making it seem overdone, since I am a fan of detail as well. And I thank you very, very much for adding my story to your favorites' list.

**Belphegor** – I will have to agree with your assessment of Stephen on all points. I do not put it past him to know as many languages as he does, and to have read literature that focuses on the humanist ideal.

As for the languages, Mercy speaks Pilipino, which is the national language of the Philippines, my country. It is a hybrid of Spanish and Tagalog, one of the major dialects spoken here in my country (there are eight or nine more major dialects, which branch out into hundreds more). Given that this is the early 1800s, I highly doubt that Stephen would know Pilipino, since it did not exist as an official language until the early 1900s, and during this time, the Philippines was still under Spanish rule, though the seeds of revolution were already beginning to sprout.

I am not the type of author who asks what I should do next, and never have been. I feel that asking other people what sort of direction the story should take only adds to more confusion, and I may end up writing a story that is no longer completely "mine." While I do value other people's opinions, and I do enjoy hearing them speculate, I will write this story (and my other stories) as I see fit. I may not see the end, but I do see how this story should go up to a certain point, and I will work on the rest of it when I get there.

As for historical accuracy, I must say that I am always conscious of it, and I will certainly demand it in the literature that I read, or in the movies that I see. History is a pleasure to me, and I much prefer getting historical details right. When I see a slip-up – or several, as I saw in _Troy_ – I begin to nitpick, and when I nitpick, I will take everything and look at each and every detail under the microscope.

Which is why I am girding myself for when _Alexander_ comes out, since I am almost certain that Hollywood will have botched it up somewhere. I will be only too happy if they prove me wrong.

**Miss Flossy** – Thank you for finding the reference to _Pirates of the Caribbean_ funny. Since there is already news of a sequel to the first one, I imagined that, if the first two continue to be successful, we will see more of _Pirates_…perhaps they would even shoot Part Four. Who knows?

I do have to agree with what you mentioned about swearing in German. I have heard some of the International Studies professors at my university do it, and while I cannot understand a word of what they are saying, just listening to them makes me wince.

As for what the boys have said, well… Mercy would like to say this:

_For **fucking** **crying** **out loud**, could you**please** get your hormones under control?! And that goes for **all** of you!_

Well, please get that message out to them. In the meantime, she will be hiding in her room. If the boys are smart, they will not dare approach, since I saw her take in a sniper rifle with her, and she is not afraid to use it.


	5. Chapter 5: Over Supper and Eavesdropping

**Chapter Five: Over Supper and Eavesdropping**

Blakeney's eyes widened at the Doctor's request. "Sir?"

Dr. Maturin gave a small smile at the boy, and nodded. "Yes Blakeney, I want you to be the one to handle this."

"But... If I may say so, sir, it is only giving her supper. Shouldn't the other men do it?"

"That is the point." Dr. Maturin paused thoughtfully, and then took off his glasses; cleaning the lenses with a piece of cloth he always kept nearby. "While I do not doubt the integrity of the men, I really do not trust how they can handle Lady di Salmileri at this point in time. Their manner is rough, and not given to subtlety. And the last thing I wish to do right now is to rile her up further."

He sighed as he put aside the cloth, and slid his glasses back into place. "You, on the other hand, I can trust to be tactful. You will know how to handle her, more or less, should the need arise."

Blakeney nodded his head slightly. Though he felt rather flattered that the Doctor would put such trust in him, he did feel a bit...perhaps frightened was the word. He had watched as the woman whom Dr. Maturin called Lady di Salmileri went into a violent tirade after she had recovered from her heatstroke. When she swore in English, he could not help but blush at the colorful and expansive vocabulary that she employed. He remembered some of the lower deck men grinning and chuckling to themselves at some of her words, perhaps understanding their implication in more ways than one.

Dr. Maturin patted him on the shoulder, rousing him from his thoughts. "Now, off you go. It is not polite to keep a lady waiting for her supper."

Blakeney nodded obediently, and took the tray that was laid on the table. He exited the tent, and headed to the one where Dr. Maturin said Lady di Salmileri was resting.

Somehow, the title "Lady" did not seem to suit the woman that they had encountered while exploring the island earlier that day. His mother was most assuredly one, and he had several aunts and cousins who were duchesses or countesses in their own rights. The way Lady di Salmileri was acting certainly showed that she was not one - or perhaps, had been raised in the wrong way.

His steps slowed somewhat as he approached the lady's tent. He glanced briefly at the two Marines posted on either side of the flap, and spoke up. "Excuse me...?"

He heard the rustle of bedclothes, and then a soft rumbling sound. This was followed by silence, and then a rather groggy voice asked: "What is it this time?"

Blakeney winced slightly at that, but responded nevertheless. "Erm... I've come to bring you supper, at Dr. Maturin's request."

This was greeted by silence, and then: "Oh, okay. Come on in."

Blakeney nudged the tent flap out of the way, and stepped into the space within. It was rather dim, considering that the only light sources were a candle on the table that had been pulled up close to the bed, and a lamp in the farthest end of the tent, but it was enough for him to see by.

The woman from that morning was sitting on the cot to his right. She was sitting up, her head in her hands, her elbows braced on the tabletop, and her hair falling all around her face like a dark curtain. She looked up as he came closer, and her face had a puffy look to it that indicated she had only just woken up.

He glanced away then, knowing that it was rude to stare. "Dr. Maturin says that you should eat, and get your strength up. He will come by later on tonight to talk to you."

"Mmm," the woman responded. She sat up, and raised her arms over her head, stretching. "Okay. And thanks for bringing me dinner." She looked at him, and her eyes narrowed slightly. "Who are you, by the way?"

He bowed slightly in response, unsure as to what to do around her. "My name is William Blakeney, Lady di Salmileri."

She snorted then. "Oh please, don't call me that."

He looked up at her, blinking. "Do not call you what?"

"Lady." She combed her fingers through her hair as she spoke, as if trying to get the tangled strands into some form of order. "I spent nearly all of my adult life trying to escape that title, and the last thing I want to hear is to be called that."

"Then...then what should I call you?"

"Mercy. Just call me Mercy." She glanced at the free stool on the opposite side of the table, and then looked back at him. "Are you supposed to do anything for anyone right after you bring me supper?"

Blakeney shook his head in response.

"Then why don't you come here and sit with me? It gets boring after a while, being alone all the time, and I'm not in the mood to start talking to myself."

Blakeney smiled at her little joke, and accepted the invitation. He sat down in the stool across the table from her, and waited for her to speak.

He watched as she ate, and realized that maybe; Dr. Maturin wasn't that far off the mark when he called her a lady. She cut the meat in such a manner as to come off elegant, with an ease that told him she had been taught how to do this since she was a child.

She put down her fork and knife, sipped from the cup of water that he had brought for her, before she finally glanced at him. "How old are you?"

Blakeney blinked at her question, and blurted out the answer in the manner he had been taught a long time ago. "I am twelve (1), ma'am - I mean, Miss Mercy."

"Twelve? Only?"

"Yes."

She leaned back, one eyebrow going arching upwards as she crossed her arms - a manner that reminded Blakeney of the Captain at times. "Don't you think that's a little too _young_ to be a midshipman? Or even in the Navy _at all_?"

He shook his head. "Oh no, it's not too young. There are others who are younger than I am on the _Surprise_. Some of the cabin boys, down in the lower decks, are as young as five or six." He smiled shyly. "My father would have had me in the Navy when I was sooner, but my mother did not want to let me go."

"Five or six?" Mercy shook her head, and muttered something about "illegal child labor" under her breath. After a few moments, she looked up, and gave a rueful smile upon seeing his puzzled gaze. "Sorry, don't mind me. Just used to voicing my thoughts out all the time, that's all."

"If you do not mind me saying so," Blakeney began, blushing a little as he proceeded, "everyone knows that you are used to speaking whatever is on your mind - even to the Captain."

She blinked. "Huh? Why do you- Oh." She laughed, and shook her head. "You mean that thing that happened earlier today, right?"

Blakeney nodded his head, glad that she seemed to be amused instead of annoyed that he had brought up the incident.

She laughed again, and waved her hand, leaning forward towards the table. "Sorry that you had to hear all of that," she said, her eyes twinkling in such a cheerful manner that Blakeney could not help but smile at her. "I tend to do that a lot." She rolled her eyes. "My brother Alec tells me that I have a very foul mouth on me, but do I look like I care? No!"

Now Blakeney laughed, watching as she sipped some of the broth and nibbled on a piece of bread. "Don't your parents get angry when they hear you?"

She shook her head, and she seemed to sober up a little. "Both my parents are dead. My mother died when I was twelve - a boating accident in Lake Como. My father, on the other hand, died of consumption when I was twenty." She smiled at him reassuringly then. "Don't worry about it. It was a long time ago, and I've moved on. I still remember them, sure, but hey, I think they'd prefer it if I went on with my life and did something with it rather than moping all the time thinking about them. No need to add another ghost to the palazzo."

"You live in a palazzo?"

"Yeah, in one of the islands just outside Venice (2). I share it with my brother, Alec, and my best friend, Ami. We stay there most of the time, but sometimes, when we feel like it, we take a trip up to Tuscany and stay in the villa there, especially during the summer."

Blakeney grinned. He had heard of the grandeur and beauty of Venice, and how Napoleon had taken over and given it to the Austrians (3). Now, here was someone who could tell him what it was like - before the Austrians had taken over.

"What is Venice like?"

* * *

"Is it true, then, that St. Mark's Cathedral has one of the most magnificent choirs?"

"Oh, that's true, completely true. I am not sure just how familiar you are with music, but it was in Venice that the polychoral style was developed. That's a really, really grandiose type of choral music, using several different choirs all at once, singing different parts of a song. It forms layer upon layer of voices and melodies, making a rich and complex sound."

Stephen had to smile as he stood outside the tent, listening in to the conversation that Blakeney and Mercy were having.

It is quite amazing that she has such patience for the child, he thought, amused. Mercy had certainly not come off as the type of woman with patience for the constant questioning of a child, but she had just proven him quite wrong. Yet it was a pleasant mistake, he now found, as it showed another side of her that, he believed, she would not just show to anyone - even to him.

That was, he supposed, the most interesting thing about her. She could be hard and cold as adamant when she wanted to, but on other occasions she had a softer and - dare he say it - sweeter side to her that shone through. He had caught a glimpse of it that afternoon, when he had put her to bed. Now he was seeing it - or rather, hearing it - as she spoke to Blakeney.

"Hmm. So the she-devil _does_ have another side to her after all."

"Indeed, Mr. Allen. I am surprised that she has not used a single swear word in the last few minutes or so."

Stephen looked over his shoulder, and saw Allen, Mowett, and Pullings standing nearby. He raised an eyebrow at them. "It is not polite to eavesdrop, gentlemen."

Allen grinned at him. "If I may say so, sir, I do not think you are in a position to say that, considering that you, too, are eavesdropping."

Stephen smiled. "Well, yes, I suppose I am." He glanced back to the flap of the tent, which was moving around in the soft breeze. "Still, I am quite surprised to see this...other side of her."

"We all are, Doctor," Pullings said. He paused a moment, and then said: "You know, once she has stopped swearing, she actually sounds rather agreeable."

Mowett elbowed Pullings in the ribs. "Hush there, Tom! She's nothing like the wenches back in Portsmouth, you know. She's a decent, educated young woman; she has no need of your 'tricks'."

"You call a woman who can swear like that 'decent'?"

"If you boys are finished listening in, maybe you'd like to come in and talk to me face-to-face?"

Stephen and his companions immediately stiffened, their voices dropping to silence almost immediately. Had they been _that_ loud?

He heard footsteps softly padding towards the entrance of the tent, and he frowned. He had given her clear instructions that she was to keep off her feet.

It was Blakeney's face, however, that appeared in the entryway as the tent flap was lifted. The midshipman smiled at all of them, and gestured to the interior of the tent.

Stephen returned the smile with one of his own, before he walked past the boy and into the tent. As he had hoped, Mercy was sitting on the bed, her feet set on the floor, but with no weight on them. The bowl of stew that he had sent over for her supper was now empty, though the bread was only half-eaten.

She raised her eyebrow slightly at him as he entered. "You know, I never took you for the type of guy who would listen in on a woman's conversation."

Stephen smiled ruefully. "Forgive me, my dear. I am a scientist, and I am, by nature, very curious." He glanced at the others, and smirked. "I do not, however, know what these gentlemen have as an appropriate excuse."

Mercy glanced at Pullings, Mowett, and Allen, rolled her eyes, and waved her hand. "Who cares? Just looking at you I know that you don't have a good excuse, so there's no use getting angry over it."

Allen chuckled, and bowed. "I hope that you will forgive us, regardless. The Captain told us to see if you were well."

She snorted in a most unladylike fashion. "Yeah, sure he was. He wanted you to make sure that I hadn't escaped somehow and reported to the French - as if I could walk with my feet in _this _condition." Here she gazed in an annoyed manner at her feet.

Stephen sighed, and shook his head. She would not be taken for a fool, that much was certain.

She tilted her chin up slightly, her gaze skimming over all of them. "So, why'd you all come here?"

It was Pullings who responded. "We are here to discuss that Frenchman you are chasing: Romelien, if I am not mistaken?"

Mercy nodded, and Stephen noticed how her countenance became colder, harder. It was only then that he truly understood: she was not merely some young woman with more arrogance than was necessary. She was indeed a soldier in her own way, and one who was used to being in difficult situations.

He tried to imagine those eyes of hers, which had suddenly become dark and unfathomable, glaring at him from behind a rifle, and realized that it was not that difficult an image to come up with.

He turned to Blakeney, noticing the confusion in the boy's eyes. He smiled kindly at him, and nodded towards the tent flap. "Go and have supper now, Blakeney."

Blakeney glanced first at him, then at the officers, and then finally at Mercy, whose gaze was still calm and chilling. With a soft murmur of "Yes, sir," he exited the tent, leaving the officers, Stephen, and Mercy alone.

* * *

(1) I have corrected the age here, in light of information that Philrya left in her review. According to her, Blakeney is twelve years old in _Master and Commander._ Again, thank you Philrya for the information.

(2) It is known for a fact that there are many small islands scattered around the vicinity of Venice, and some of these, at one point or another, were known to have been occupied. I am not quite certain whether or not there are still islands with palazzos on them that are still occupied, but let us simply assume, for the sake of creative license, that such things still do exist in the present day and age.

(3) After Napoleon conquered Venice, he handed it over to Austria, becoming a part of the Kingdom of Lombardy-Venetia when Napoleon signed the Treaty of Campo Formio on October 12, 1797. It was during the following year, on January 18, 1798, that the Austrians officially moved in to occupy _La Serenissima._ However, Venice was taken out of Austrian control by the Treaty of Pressburg (which was signed on December 26, 1805), and was made a part of Napoleon's Kingdom of Italy, starting from 1805 until Napoleon's defeat in 1814. Since the movie takes place early in 1805, then Blakeney would naturally assume that Venice is still under Austrian, and not French, control.

NOTE ON EDIT:

Philrya told me Blakeney's true age, and I have corrected this chapter accordingly. Many thanks, Philrya.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:

**Philrya** – Ah, it is such a comfort to find a fellow Filipino in this fandom – even if you are, as you say, only half-Filipino. Which side of your family is Filipino: mother's side or father's side? At any rate, thank you for taking the time to read and to review my story, and good luck with learning how to speak Filipino.

**ArcherofDarkness** – Mercy's feet will recover soon. Maturin is an excellent doctor, and as long as Mercy obeys his orders, they will be fine. And yes, Napoleon is a very interesting person…though one certainly must wonder if his desire to establish an empire was because he felt insecure about his height…

**TheMusingFit** – Thank you for the kind review. Yes, Mercy's personality does indeed border on arrogance, but she has had need of it from time to time. Confidence in oneself – but not overconfidence – is necessary to survive dangerous situations, and considering the nature of Mercy's job, she does need quite a bit of trust in herself. Sometimes, when in non-dangerous situations, that confidence can manifest as arrogance, as was the case in the previous chapter.

**Miss Flossy** – Once again, thank you for the kind review. Yes, Mercy does have a very foul mouth on her, but she is not normally like that. And yes, Mercy's name is indeed a long one. It does not surprise me, though since she is from the nobility, and there is a tendency for long names in the nobility, if I am not mistaken. Oh, and certainly, she will end up as putty in someone's hands – but of course, I am not going to say just _whose_ hands those are just yet.

With regards to _Abbotsleigh Park,_ I must say that the conclusion was lovely, and just what I had hoped. Mowett is a bastard, and he deserved what Madeleine did to him, but oh, the way they made up certainly exceeded all expectations. And…wild love in the stables? Hmm…quite suitable, if I may say so.

Finally, the idea regarding Mr. Howard and Mercy's pistols has made an interesting image come into mind, which I may make use of in a future chapter. Thank you for the suggestion.

**Kontara** – Thank you for the compliment.

**Galatyn Renner** – Thank you for taking the time to review all the chapters that I have posted thus far. Very few people have the patience to do so. Most of the time they simply review everything in one go.

I am glad that you consider my interpretations of the canon characters appropriate. That is a constant worry in my mind, particularly where it concerns Aubrey and Maturin. Again, thank you for your reviews.


	6. Chapter 6: Worries

**Chapter Six: Worries**

Pullings watched as Blakeney left the tent. The poor boy seemed rather confused at the sudden change in the Lady's demeanor - which was not surprising, considering that she had been quite warm to him.

As soon as the tent flap fell back into place, Mercy spoke up: "How did he lose his arm?"

Dr. Maturin sighed, and made a gesture to indicate that he would be the one to answer that. "We were attacked by a French ship called the _Acheron_ several weeks ago. In our first encounter, splinters were lodged in his arm, and there was nothing I could do to stop the infection from setting in. I had to...deal with it, in the best way I knew how."

Mercy nodded, and Pullings saw something that looked like sadness flash through her eyes. But when she blinked, it was gone, and replaced by hard, cold impersonality when she looked at him, and asked: "What about the bastard did you want to talk about?"

Pullings straightened up, putting an official tone in his voice. "We would like to learn all that we can about this...Romelien. How did he come to be involved in your appearance at the beach earlier today? Who is he, really? What does he do?"

Mercy huffed, and ran a hand through her hair, the strands shimmering slightly in the soft lamplight. "Figures. I guess I had to talk about it sooner or later." She glanced at the stools and crates nearby, and smirked. "I think you guys might want to sit down. This is going to take a while."

Pullings nodded, and glanced at Mowett and Allen, who then pulled up a stool and a crate, respectively, to sit on. Pullings himself got another stool, and the Doctor occupied the stool that Blakeney had left vacant.

When they were all seated, Mercy continued: "Dr. Jacques Romelien is a scientist, most known for his discoveries and innovations in the field of quantum electronics. I could rattle off an entire list of his achievements in that field, but that's not important.

"The most famous of Romelien's inventions was a machine that, through the use of quantum physics, could actually manage to send a person back in time, and pull them back into the present day again. There were problems with this technology initially, such as what are called 'transcription errors (1)' - don't make me explain what those are, it's too complicated. But someone had managed to work out a way so that these errors did not happen, hence making time-travel, if I may use the term, safe no matter how many times a person did it."

Dr. Maturin leaned forward. "And was that person Romelien?"

Mercy shook her head. "No. It was another scientist, also a Frenchman, named Antoine Salois. Salois was brilliant, much like Romelien, but with a manageable ego. I had met him once before, and he struck me as the sort of person who was happy as long as he was doing what he loved - someone who didn't care much for the glory or the fame. Regardless, though, his discovery made a potentially dangerous technology safe - and that meant that people would want it for their own ends.

"It was not just Romelien's rivalry with Salois that drove him to steal the safer and smaller version of the machine and kill Salois and his entire research team. My brother recently found out that Romelien was also working for someone else, someone higher and infinitely more powerful, but at the time when I set out for my mission our team still had not identified just who exactly was pulling Romelien's strings.

"When we found out that Salois and his team had been killed, we knew immediately that it had something to do with the fact that Salois had found a solution to the transcription errors, and that he had built his own machine that operated on that latest discovery of his. We knew that to have the machine out in the open, where it could be stolen or sold on the black market, was a dangerous thing, so we arranged for a mission that would eliminate Romelien, or, at the very least, take the machine off of him. The rest, I told you already."

Pullings did not say anything, continuing instead to gaze at Mercy, trying to come to grips with what she had told him. Though her explanation was brief, and she spoke of things that he did not quite understand, it was a strange and chilling plot - one laden with blood, intrigue, and deception.

He wondered what her time was like. He knew how so many people had high hopes for the future. Many people envisioned that, two hundred years or more from the present, human beings would be enlightened, and there would be no such thing as violence and war.

It was obvious, though, that those speculations were wrong. Hearing Mercy speak, and seeing the way that she spoke of killing a person in so matter-of-fact a manner, told him that the world was not about to get any better. Perhaps it would, in its own way, but some things would remain the same in the future as in the present.

His gloomy train of thought was interrupted when Allen spoke up. The Sailing Master looked at the young woman with a scrutinizing gaze, and then asked: "So you are saying that you will kill Romelien when you find him?"

Mercy shook her head. "Not necessarily, if he comes along peacefully and hands me the device. Otherwise, if he resists, I'm going to have to take it off his corpse."

"And how do you plan to find him?" That was Mowett now, speaking in a tone that seemed more curious than condescending, as Allen's voice had been. "Do you even know where he is?"

"I think that he's still here, on this island," Mercy responded. "It's the most logical thing to assume, after all. If I'm correct, he was also conked out by the machine's effects, which means that he should have woken up at around the same time that I did, maybe even earlier. If he's lucky, he'll have found a source of fresh water on this island, or a way to make it, at least, and is hiding out somewhere amongst the rocks: they're good places to hide."

Dr. Maturin nodded in response to her assessment. "That does sound quite plausible."

"But this island is fairly large," Pullings said then, remembering the map that the Captain had shown him earlier that day. "And the rocks, as you said so yourself, make excellent hiding places. It may take days, maybe even weeks, before we find him, if at all, and by then we would have to leave the Galapagos."

"You don't have to do anything for me if you don't think you can," Mercy said then, and her voice was laced with just a hint of what sounded like an injured pride. "As soon as my feet are okay I will go looking for him myself."

Pullings smiled at her. "We agree with what you have said: your business is yours, and we have no right to involve ourselves in it. However, you must remember that we cannot leave this Frenchman on the loose. If he is indeed from your time, as you say, then he could provide incredible amounts of information that could prove detrimental for our side. And this man, as you have implied, does not seem to have the same moral scruples as you do."

Mercy fell silent for a while, and then responded with a grimace and a nod. "Very good point." She scowled. "I _hate_ it when everything gets complicated like this!"

Mowett offered her a comforting smile. "If it is any consolation at all, we shall send out a search party tomorrow, to see if they can find him before he gets too far."

"Personally, I really wouldn't mind if you brought back a corpse," Mercy said. "It'd make things much easier for me to handle. A dead person can't escape or complain."

Pullings raised an eyebrow as he looked at her, rather surprised by what she had just said. "Pardon, miss?"

She laughed, and waved her hand. "I know, I know, proper women shouldn't talk like that. It's the same lecture that my older brother gives me when he's not bossing me around to go on this or that mission."

"Well then perhaps your older brother should be stricter with you," Dr. Maturin said, his voice taking on a tone that Pullings was all too familiar with. It the same tone of voice he used when he was talking to the Captain - or rather, when he was _lecturing_ the Captain.

Mercy rolled her eyes. "Psh, as if he could. I am a grown woman, Doctor, and _nobody_ pushes me around without my permission. My brother is well aware of that fact, and I hope that all the rest of you know it too."

Pullings nodded his head. "We understand clearly, Lady- Pardon, Miss Mercy."

Dr. Maturin cleared his throat then, and stood up. "Well, I suppose we had best retire for the night, gentlemen. The hour grows late, and the young lady needs her rest."

Pullings opened his mouth to say that he had a few more questions to ask Mercy, but the look that the Doctor sent his way was one that said he would brook no argument. So instead, he smiled, and nodded. "If the Doctor thinks that it be to the benefit of the Lady's health, then so be it."

"Don't call me Lady," Mercy gritted out between tightly clenched teeth.

Pullings laughed softly, and bowed to her. "Good night, Lady." He turned, and headed out of the tent, leaving the Doctor inside to tend to Mercy before he, too, went to his tent to sleep.

"A spitfire, isn't she?"

Pullings grinned as he looked at Mowett. "That she is."

Mowett shook his head. "If the Captain were to see that look on your face..."

"He won't, as long as neither you nor I speak of it, and I do not look like this whenever I happen to be around both the lady and the Captain at the same time."

"That is, _if_ he does not employ any ways and means to find out, and if the lady does not complain to him about it. And also, let us not forget the fact that _this_ particular lady will not hesitate to do you grievous injury should you so much as toe the line." Mowett smirked. "There _are_ consequences when attempting to charm a spitfire, Tom."

Pullings grinned. "Then I suppose I will just have to accept those risks."

Mowett laughed then as the two of them stepped into the tent that they shared. "If you fail and either your person or your pride gets injured, I am not to be held responsible. I tried to talk you out of this, but if you wish to risk yourself, then I will wish you the best of luck in your endeavor."

Pullings grinned as he patted Mowett on the shoulder. "And that's all I would really have ever asked of you, my friend."

Mowett rolled his eyes, but he still smiled. "Have it your way, Tom Pullings."

* * *

He watched as the minutes ticked away on the digital clock that lay at the corner of his computer screen, and sighed. It had been nearly two hours since she had last contacted him. Normally she was quick at doing her job, and it wasn't as if she would have a problem finding her target: there wasn't exactly a lot of places one can run and hide in on a luxury cruise ship.

No, what troubled him at the moment was the fact that she had gone completely and utterly silent. She would have contacted him somehow, someway, if something had gone wrong, but the fact that she hadn't told him that something was up.

But he didn't want to think the worst just yet. His sister was a strong girl, that much he knew, and she would be able to handle things herself. If she did not contact him, then that only meant that she was doing something more important than telling him what was going on with her, and that was something he could understand.

As the hours continued to tick by, and no word from her, he realized that something must have gone wrong.

"Bloody hell," he muttered as he pulled off the gloves that allowed him to directly interface with the screen in front of him (2), and climbed the stairs up to the ground floor of the palazzo that he, Mercy, and his fiancée shared.

She's most likely all right, he thought, trying to calm himself down as he strode through the hallways and corridors, while his shoes clicked softly against the marble floor. She would have contacted him somehow, to tell her if she was all right or if something had gone wrong. He had outfitted her with the latest and hardiest communication technology, so that she would be able to reach him, no matter what.

Something, however, niggled at the back of his mind, and told him that something had just gone horribly wrong.

He turned left, passed two doors, and then went right, going into the library, where a small figure with wavy black hair was lounging in one of the armchairs, her left hand holding a book open while she rested her head on the other one.

She looked up as he came in, her cat-like onyx eyes blinking back at him with curiosity. "Alec? What's the matter?"

Alec Marvail glanced at her briefly, and replied: "Mercy hasn't contacted me yet, Ami. I'm getting worried."

He did not need to look to know that Ami Tejada, his fiancée and Mercy's best friend, had stiffened in her seat. A few moments later, she was on her feet, and approaching him.

"You think something went wrong?" Ami asked, and in her voice was the worry that had been plaguing Alec since earlier that day.

"I really do not want to think that way, love," Alec replied. "I'd like to think that Merce can handle herself, but sometimes..."

"We can't prepare for everything that may happen," Ami murmured. She looked up at her fiancé. "Do you think that she took this mission because of...what happened to Tony? I mean, she really did love him, and to find out that he died, well-"

Alec shook his head. "Mercy wouldn't have done that. She _wouldn't_."

Or would she?

Alec squeezed his eyes shut, and opened them again. He would _not_ think that way. Mercy would _never_ do that. She always said how it was stupid for anyone to go on a suicide mission for whatever reason, and if he knew anything about his sister, it was that she stuck to her principles, though there were times when she wanted to go against them.

He picked up the phone, and punched in a number. The drone sounded back to him before a rather groggy voice answered him: "You had better give me a damn good reason for waking me up at...two in the morning, Marvail."

Alec allowed a small smile to quirk his mouth. "Sorry for waking you up like this McAlister, but I have favor to ask of you."

Gregory McAlister paused for a moment, and then asked: "What did you have in mind?"

"Well, I was wondering if you could do this for me..."

* * *

(1) This term is something that I picked up from Michael Crichton's _Timeline_. For those who have not read the book, transcription errors are injuries that occur in the body from too much time travel, oftentimes resulting in various maladies from insanity to severe heart failure.

(2) The computers that are used in Mercy's time are like the ones that appear in the movie _Minority Report_. Hence, like Tom Cruise's character in the movie, anyone who wishes to operate a computer like that will require special gloves that allow the user to interface with the screen.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:

**Philrya** - Thank you for the correction. I have edited the previous chapter accordingly. Mercy does have a soft spot of her own when it comes to children, as was seen when she was talking to Blakeney, but when it comes to other men, well...as was seen in this chapter, she gives no quarter.

**ArcherofDarkness** - I was not making fun of Napoleon, I assure you. It was just something I had observed when it came to "world conquerors," as it were: Alexander was fairly short (it was said that the Persian King, Darius, was taller than he was), and so was Genghis Khan. So, if anything, Napoleon is in very good company, in spite of his height.

As for Mercy following the Doctor's orders...that is something that remains to be seen. While she seems to be inclined to obeying him, she may not necessarily feel the same way when she wakes up the next morning. One thing is for sure, though: she will not necessarily feel inclined to obey the Captain, which will certainly cause quite a bit of trouble - and no end of amusement.

**Miss Flossy** - Yes, Blakeney _does_ come off as the most matured of all the men in the previous chapter, does he not? Even the Doctor, who really should know better, was caught red-handed, as it were.

And when are you going to put up the sequel to _Abbotsleigh Park_? I saw that Bean02 already put up her sequel for her story, but what of yours?


	7. Chapter 7: Memories

**Chapter Seven: Memories**

_The wind was cool and heavy with the scent of flowers, making her sigh with delight as she stood on the back patio, a wineglass half-filled with red wine balanced in her hand. Behind her, she could hear Ami's laughter, followed shortly by Alec's, and then the soft tinkling of the piano as Ami played one of her pieces._

_She shut her eyes, recognizing the tune. It was one of Ami's more romantic pieces, and had the sort of melody that was made for slow dancing._

_"And what are you doing alone out here?"_

_She smiled, but did not turn, recognizing the baritone that drifted to her ears - a lovely counterpoint to the music - and the lips that gently brushed against the nape of her neck. "I was just enjoying a lovely sunset with some wine. Is there anything wrong with that?"_

_Strong arms went up around her waist, pulling her close against an equally strong and familiar torso. "Nothing wrong with that, love. I was just wondering if you would like some company."_

_She giggled. "Let me guess: Alec and Ami are at it again?"_

_She felt his chest shift against her back as he chuckled. "Oh yes, and in full force at that." There was a brief pause, and then: "You know love, it never ceases to amaze me how you can let your brother have his way with your best friend. Should you not be a little more protective?"_

_She smirked, placed the wineglass on the stone railing in front of her, and turned around in the circle of his arms to gaze up into glimmering blue eyes. "Well, I don't see why I should start getting 'protective,' as you put it. For one, Ami can take care of herself. And secondly, why should I get on Alec's case when he isn't getting on yours?"_

_"Hmmm, no, I suppose not." His voice took on a thoughtful tone. "It never really ceases to amaze me that your brother is letting you and I have this relationship."_

_"And why should you be surprised? Alec knows that I can take care of myself, and that I can make my own decisions. That's the reason why I love him, you know: because he knows that I can do my own choosing. And besides, he knows I love you, and that you make me happy. He doesn't ask for much more than that."_

_He sighed, and his arms tightened around her waist, holding her more snugly against him. "He also knows that there could be trouble. I'm not exactly someone who is...suitable for you."_

_"That's the world talking, not him." She smiled softly, and placed a hand against his cheek. "I don't care about the world. They can say whatever they want. I just want to love you, that's all. They aren't living my life for me, and I won't let them."_

_The piano fell silent then, and the fading notes hung, suspended, in the air, like delicate invisible crystals before they shattered silently against the stone beneath their feet. He, too, had gone rather quiet, but she did not mind, content to listen to his heartbeat beneath the cotton of his shirt as she pressed her head to his chest._

_"I'm not going to be around as long as you will, darling," he said softly, and the way he said the word "darling" made her shiver agreeably. "You and I have to face facts: I am twenty-four years your senior, and that does not leave us a lot of time together."_

_She sighed. "I know that," she said softly. "And I know that the world does not really like the idea of us together." She lifted her gaze up to meet his, and smiled. "But like I said, I don't care. The world can say what it wants; I'm just going to plug my ears and not listen to it. And as for limited time, well..." She grinned. "We've got to take every opportunity to be together, right?"_

_He chuckled, and his lips lifted in a wolfish grin. "And just what are you suggesting, Miss di Salmileri?"_

_She smiled, and lightly ran a finger against his earlobe, liking the way his gaze darkened quickly at the touch. "I don't know. What do you think?"_

_He bent his head closer to her mouth, preparing to kiss her again. "Is that a challenge?"_

_"What does it sound like?"_

_Just then, she heard rapid footsteps tramping over in their direction, and then she heard another voice: "Uh, sweetie, I think you might want to wait until we've had supper?"_

_She turned, and saw Ami standing in the doorway that led from the patio to the interior of the house, leaning against the doorframe as if she had been watching the whole exchange._

_She glared. "Go away, Ami. I thought Alec had you cornered already or something."_

_"Alec has the decency to wait until after supper," Ami replied, a rather evil grin on her face as she continued to look at the two of them. "Now come on. The sooner you finish eating, the sooner you two can get back to whatever it was you were planning tonight."_

_She laughed, and shook her head. "Fine, fine, we'll be going inside now."_

_Ami nodded, and walked back into the house, disappearing around a corner as she walked to the dining room._

_She sighed, and glanced back at him. "Well, looks like we're going to have to make an appearance at supper tonight."_

_He smiled, though she knew he was slightly disappointed that their little "moment" was spoiled. "Must we, really? After all, the stables aren't that far from here, and I hear that a fresh supply of hay has been brought in…"_

_She laughed, and hit him on the forearm. "Oh stop it, will you? While my darling older brother really doesn't mind what we've been doing, he is going to have your head if we do not show up for supper. He wants to make sure that his sweet, charming sister is well-fed and healthy."_

_He uttered an exaggerated sigh at that, but let her go nonetheless. "All right, all right, if that is how you're going to put it." His smile was wolfish again as he tugged her towards the door that led back into the house. "Come along then, love. The sooner we finish with supper, the sooner I can tie you to my bed."_

_She laughed again, and followed him back into the house, her empty wineglass cupped in her free hand._

She felt her gut twist painfully as the memory, like the reel in an old movie camera, played out to its end. Those were good days, wonderful days, days when she felt as if nothing could ever, ever go wrong, as if the world was right and there was nothing she should be worried about.

All she ever needed was for him to be there. To hell with the fact that the world could easily perceive their relationship as perverse and wrong; to hell with the fact that, considering their true professions, it would be so easy to lose each other, that all it could take was one bullet or one knife stab in the right place at the right time. All she ever needed, ever wanted, was for him to be there when she came back from a mission, to see his smile and hear his laughter as he swung her into his arms and kissed her.

She could have dealt with him being murdered, or killed in the line of duty, as it were. It would have been easier to deal with that idea - that way she could take all her anger and frustration and grief out on the people who had killed him; she could pour all her energy into getting vengeance.

But that had not been the case. He had died in an accident - a stupid accident that could have been prevented. And now...now?

He's _dead_ Mercy, she told herself as she opened her eyes, noticing the tempered sunlight that filtered through the canvas overhead. He was dead, and there was nothing she could do about it. And it hadn't even been someone's fault: it had been the fault of something that no one in the world could control.

And that was why she had thrown herself so wholeheartedly into this mission: doing something was better than just sitting around and thinking about what had happened to him. It was better that she kept her mind occupied, rather than let it drift on memories of him when he would never be coming back.

But how did one stop the memories from invading one's dreams?

She heard the tent flap being lifted open, and she propped herself up on her elbows to see who had come in.

Dr. Maturin smiled at her. "How are you feeling this morning?" he asked as he approached, slowly making his way towards her to sit down on the edge of the bed.

She smiled slightly, and pushed herself up into a sitting position. "Better than how I was feeling yesterday, that's for sure." She glared at her bandaged feet. "Still, I'm still a little put out that I can't walk around. You sure I can't walk around a little? I mean, I _do_ have to have a bit of exercise, and-"

"As I told you the last time, you _must_ keep off your feet if you want them to heal properly," Dr. Maturin said sternly. "Now then, let's have a look at them, shall we?"

Mercy did not argue as Dr. Maturin shifted slightly to take a look at her feet. She watched as he unwrapped the bandages, wincing a little as the cloth came away from where they had been stuck to the wounds. The cuts, when they were revealed, were still quite raw, but they were not bleeding.

"Hmmm, these seem to be healing quite well," the Doctor murmured as he once again slathered some of that...whatever it was...on her feet, and wrapped them in fresh bandages. After he had done so, he glanced up at her, and smiled. "I expect you to stay in bed, at the very least until the day after tomorrow. Then you may start walking around for short intervals, and for longer intervals over the succeeding days."

Mercy pouted petulantly at him. "And for all that time you expect me to just _sit_ here with nothing to do?"

Now Dr. Maturin laughed, and shook his head. "Well, I suppose that would be asking too much of you, would it not? Would you like something to read then? I think I can persuade Jack to lend you some of his books."

"You sure the Captain wouldn't mind sharing some of them with me?" Mercy asked with a raised eyebrow.

Dr. Maturin chuckled. "Oh, I am quite sure he would not mind. Just be sure to take care of the books. They are rather hard to come by, especially since the only time when we can purchase books is when we go ashore."

Mercy grinned, and waved her hand. "Don't worry; I know what it's like to lend books out to people and have them come back in less than stellar condition - if they're returned at all."

"Excellent. If you do not mind, I shall leave you here a moment, and will be back soon with the books."

"Thank you, Doctor."

* * *

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:

**ArcherofDarkness** - Yes, I must agree with you: rebellion and disobedience are quite a bit of fun…so long as one does not get punished for one's transgressions. As for the odds of Alec coming after Mercy…well, we shall have to see about that. He will _try,_ certainly, but…that will have to be seen later on in the story. As for Aubrey getting mad, I believe you will see some of that infamous temper later on – after all, what fun would an M&C fan fiction piece be if Aubrey did not lose his head every now and then, right?

**Miss Flossy** - Hmm, yes, Pullings has his sights set on her. I wish him all the luck in the world, however, because as this chapter has proven, she has not quite gotten over Tony just yet.

And since you were curious about Tony, I hope that this chapter has explained some of that – along with the more fiery aspect that goes on behind closed doors.

While Mowett and Allen are rather…interesting potential partners for Mercy, I have to say that the odds of that are rather slim, particularly where it concerns Allen. As it stands, only Mowett and the Doctor are indeed the ones with any real chance, though Pullings will have the chance to prove himself come the next few chapters.

With regards to _A Woman Scorned,_ I must say that you have written excellent chapters thus far, though I do wish that you would post up the next chapter soon.


	8. Chapter 8: Truce

**Chapter Eight: Truce**

Jack pushed the canvas of the tent flap out of the way, almost fuming in his irritation. He had just come back from his usual mid-morning stroll, to check up on the camp, and although the weather was fine, and his men were taking full advantage of it by playing cricket, his First Lieutenant had just informed him of what the lady had told him the night before, and it did _not_ please him at all.

Pullings had just made a very valid point, one that he had not really considered: the fact that Lady Mercia and this Romelien fellow were from the future and thus knew of certain things that could prove destructive for England's position and safety in this war. It had completely slipped his mind that this Romelien could quite possibly be of a very different frame of mind from the Lady Mercia, and so would not mind sharing what he knew - something that could possibly include intelligence that had to be kept out of French hands at all costs.

He huffed, and sank into his chair. He had considered not sending out any search parties to look for the fugitive Frenchman, but now he knew he had to - unless he wanted to hand the French a weapon far more deadly than any long gun that had ever been developed.

Once again, his thoughts turned to the mysterious guest who was now occupying the tent not that far away from where he was. While he was little impressed with her temperament and her attitude, he had to grudgingly admit to himself that she _did_ have her good points: her intelligence not the least amongst those qualities that he found admirable in her. If only she acted more like the lady that she purportedly was, then all would be well.

He looked up as a shaft of sunlight appeared and disappeared on the floor of the tent, and watched as Stephen made his way into the tent, leaning heavily on his cane.

Jack smiled, feeling rather relieved that Stephen was in much better condition than in the previous days. Though he never made a show of it, especially not in front of the men, he had been very worried over the condition of his dear friend. The fact that Stephen was now walking around, and seemed quite healthy at that, made him feel much better.

He cleared his throat to get Stephen's attention. "I thought that you had already gone out to find your bird."

Stephen looked up at him, and shook his head. "Oh no, no, not just yet. I went and checked up on our guest first, and made sure that she was not about to start going against my orders for her to stay in bed."

"Hmmm, yes, she is quite the strong-willed type, is she not?" Jack asked, bemused, watching as Stephen puttered around the tent before heading for the chest that contained their cache of books and sheet music.

Stephen nodded his head absently. "Yes, that is true. Very strong-willed."

"Ah. And you do not find that appealing?"

Stephen looked up from where he was looking through the chest, and glared at Jack. "I do not find it amusing that you seek to play matchmaker between me and the young lady. If all that she has said is true then she shall be returning quite soon to where she has come from. And even if she does _not_ find a way, well, considering how _young_ she is it would be quite inappropriate to have any form of romantic connection with her."

Jack chuckled. "I was merely teasing you, brother."

"Well then, do not tease in that way. If the men hear of it, they will talk, and it will not do to have the young lady's good name and reputation dragged in the dust."

"She does not seem very much concerned about her 'good name and reputation,' as you have called it."

Stephen looked up, and fired a stern glare in Jack's direction. "I know that you are not very fond of her, but I do wish that you would treat her with a minimum of respect. At the very least she respects your authority here, and she has done nothing against it. She spoke out-of-turn once, yes, but consider the fact that she was under quite a bit of stress, not to mention pain, during that time. She is quite polite and well-mannered, when you allow her to be, and when you do the same to her."

Jack grunted noncommittally, and shrugged. Then he realized that Stephen was pulling out various books and piling them onto a nearby tabletop. "Stephen, why in the world are you pulling out those books?"

Stephen gave him a half-smile as he hefted four books into his arms. "I was intending to lend them to the young lady. She does not have much to do, and I believe that reading will keep her occupied. At the very least, it will stop her from wanting to walk around when she should be sitting down."

Jack stood up, and took the books from Stephen. "I shall do it, Stephen. Go on ahead and look for your bird before the daylight runs out."

Stephen raised his eyebrow at him, but stood straighter. "Very well then, do as you will." Just before he exited the tent, he paused, and turned back to Jack. "Remember Jack-"

"Yes, yes, Stephen, I remember," Jack replied with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Stephen rolled his eyes, and shook his head, but left Jack by himself, a batch of books in his hand.

Jack smirked, and turned from the tent flap to the books in his hand: a strange mix of titles and subjects that included one in Italian that he could not quite understand.

He stood up straighter, and tucked the books under his arm. It was time to face the lioness in her den.

* * *

She stared up at the ceiling, trying to fight off boredom by occasionally talking to herself between visualizations of all the things she would do to Romelien when she got her hands on him at last. 

She was running through a list of particularly promising torture methods once used by the Barbary States in her head when she heard someone clear his (not "her," because she was the only woman around) throat beyond the tent flap. Since she assumed it was the doctor, she didn't bother to get up, and so she said: "Come on in."

Canvas flapped, but the footsteps she heard coming into the tent did not match the footsteps she had come to associate with Stephen. She raised her head from the pillow, and noticed a tall figure with blonde hair and piercing light-colored eyes standing a few feet away from the bed.

She sat up more fully, and focused her gaze on her visitor. "Ah, Captain Aubrey. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Aubrey smirked at her, and passed a pile of books in her direction. "I have the books that Stephen was planning to lend to you." Here he placed a small pile of books on the table that stood between him and the bed where she was.

She smiled at the volumes as she pulled them towards her, liking the feel of them in her hands. Her mother had been a bibliophile of the first order, and loved nothing more than to collect books and to read them - a love that Mercy had imbibed and grown up with all her life.

"Thank you, Captain," she murmured as she flipped open the cover of one the books, glancing briefly at the illustration of some Greek mural before she closed it and looked up at the person she was speaking to. "Boredom was beginning to drive me right up the wall."

"So it would seem," Aubrey said, chuckling wryly. "I heard you talking. What was this about boiling oil and a nice, sturdy chain?"

Mercy rolled her eyes, and gave the Captain her own wry smile. "Like I said, boredom was driving me right up the wall. I was just thinking about how I'd pay back Romelien for all the trouble he's given me thus far."

"So you would boil him alive in oil?"

"Sure. Why not deep-fry the bastard and then throw him to the sharks? Sounds like good payback, if you ask me."

Aubrey smirked again, and shook his head. He leaned forward on the table, looking down at her. "I could never have imagined that a supposedly well-bred lady such as you could think such dark thoughts."

"Well then, think of it this way: I'm human, just like everybody else, and I have the capability and the right to think such thoughts." She grinned toothily at him, never once taking her gaze away from his. "The only time you really have to worry about anything is when I start putting thought to practice."

Aubrey raised an eyebrow. "And do you intend to do that?"

"No. Why should I?"

The Captain nodded, and gazed at her for a while longer before he turned around, and pulled up a stool so that he could sit opposite her.

"Lieutenant Pullings told me about what you had spoken of last night," he said as soon as he had seated himself on the stool, his posture and manner reminding her of Alec: all-business and no-nonsense.

Mercy nodded, sliding into the attitude and posture she adopted whenever she was talking to Alec when he was in the same mind-frame. "Yes, and everything I said to Lieutenant Pullings was true." She paused. "Do you intend to send search parties to look for Romelien?"

"I shall, in a moment." Another smirk curled on Aubrey's lips. "Perhaps you would like to tell me what he looks like, and what he is wearing?"

Mercy smiled. While she might not have been a part of the search team, at the very least _something_ was being done about the current situation. She much preferred doing nothing but knowing that someone else was doing something, than doing nothing and knowing that nothing was being done at all. "He's around five-feet-ten-inches tall, with dark hair and hazel eyes. He's dressed like a French naval officer."

"Ah. Incentive for the men, then."

Mercy tilted her head to the side, looking at the Captain curiously. "Do you really hate the French that much?"

Aubrey slid a small glance in her direction, and she noted the wry smile that curved his mouth. "Well now, that is an interesting question."

He looked away, gazing through the partially-open tent flap out to the sea. At length, he replied: "I suppose that I do. You should talk to Stephen about hating the French: he could tell you quite a few things about Bonaparte. But as for myself, I suppose that I hate them because they are a threat to my country, and to the people I love and hold dear." Here a soft smile crossed his face, and his eyes became unfocused, lost, it seemed, in some distant memory.

Mercy recognized that look: she had seen it often enough on Alec's face, whenever he was thinking about Ami, and, once before, on Tony's when he was looking at her.

She blinked the thought away, and covered it up with a cheeky smile. "Thinking of someone, Captain?"

"Actually, I was," Aubrey replied - a response that took Mercy a bit by surprise. "Of my wife, Sophie."

"Oh. Okay." She leaned back, fingering the books on her lap. "Must be hard for you, being away from her all the time."

Aubrey shrugged. "I write when I can, and I keep a locket with her portrait in it close to me. And while I miss her, I cannot afford to do so, not while England is in danger." He focused his pale gaze on her once more, and smirked. "You must think me hard-hearted for saying that."

"No, I don't." Mercy smiled, hoping that it would cover up some of the more sensitive emotions that had come to the surface.

Aubrey gave her one long, measuring look, before he smiled. This time, there was a decidedly more relaxed character to it, as if he had come to accept something about her that he had refused to accept before. "You are a most unusual woman, Lady Mercy."

Mercy grinned. "That's me: unusual all the way. You ought to hear what my brother calls me sometimes. He can get really creative."

Aubrey chuckled, and stood up. "Well then, I think it would be best if I left you for now. If the Doctor were to see me here I am certain he would demand that I leave before I weary you."

Mercy rolled her eyes. "Sitting on my butt all day is more tiring than having to talk to someone."

Aubrey laughed once more, and bowed to her, before leaving the tent.

Mercy watched him go, and sighed, before turning her attention to the pile of books that sat on her lap.

Thank the gods for inventing printing, she thought as she set the books on top of the table next to her, pulled out the one on top, and proceeded to read.

* * *

**  
NOTES:**

To the readers who have been following this, I am truly, awfully sorry that I have updated only now. I have had this chapter around for quite some time now, but school, as I said, has been interfering a great deal with my life. If any of you have gone to my profile, I have left an explanation there as to why. Nevertheless, I hope that you will all forgive me – particularly the ones who have been faithfully following this story since it was posted up. I intend to keep my promise of finishing this, so no need to worry about it dying off. It will just take longer to finish, that is all.

**ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS**:

**ArcherofDarkness and Callie** – Yes, it is a pity what happened to Tony, isn't it? There will be more of that as the story progresses, especially since Pullings seems determined to court Mercy, yet Mercy is still, apparently, in no condition to start a romantic relationship with anyone. Thank you very much for your comment.

**Miss Flossy** – I am glad that you liked the previous chapter. It was a joy to write Mercy showing her softer side, since she really isn't as hard or as harsh as the Surprises think she is. While it is true that she can be something of a she-devil when she wants to (and that will come to the fore later on in the story, I assure you), she is really quite sweet and kind.

Thank you for complimenting the line. It was something that I thought up when I was in the middle of typing that scene, and I thought that I ought to try and give it a shot. I'm glad that you thought it beautiful.

I am terribly, utterly sorry for having dropped completely off the face of the Internet. School has not been kind of me at all, and has eaten into almost all of my free time. I have other concerns now, mostly to do with thesis and researching for said thesis, so writing fan fiction hasn't really been on the top of my list. I hope that you will forgive me for the delay.

**Beautybedamned –** Here's the rest of it, as promised, and there is certainly more to come – after I go back and watch the movie again just to refresh my memory.

**Lexi** – Thank you for the compliment.

**Lolita Riddle** – I wish Pullings all the luck in the world when it comes to wooing Mercy. She is, as can be told from the previous chapter, in no condition to be wooed, considering how her heart is still in something of a fragile condition after Tony's death.

As for Mercy and the Doctor, well… Some other readers and the Aubrey seem to agree with you, but we all know that the good Doctor will not do something like that – interesting though it might have been.

**Pheranna** – I'm glad that the chapter got you to write a review. They are always appreciated. Thank you very much, and I hope that you continue to enjoy this story, in spite of its very, very slow progress.

**Belphegor** – Yes, Mercy does indeed have a wounded heart. It does go to certain lengths in explaining why she is so snappish, as you put it. I suppose it is her way of defending herself, of preventing more heartache from coming to her. It is a psychological thing as far as I understand it…Mercy prevents other people from getting close to her so that they cannot hurt her. It's a painful thing to do, and a painful thing to watch, especially for those who are close to her (like her brother and her best friend).

As for the crew, you will eventually get to see more of them, particularly when the battle of the _Acheron_ begins. I have made a few plans regarding that, and mostly involve some of the crewmen getting saved by Mercy, as well as them saving _her_, which happens more often than not. As for the lower deck men complaining about having a woman on board, well… I'm still thinking about how I'm going to solve that, and right now it involves a lot of bandages and a change of clothes on Mercy's part – something that she might _not _like at all. They will not, however, maroon her anywhere on the Galapagos. I don't think the good Doctor would stand for that sort of thing…

Ah, thank you very much for that list of languages! It is a great deal of help that you gave me that list; it has helped me plan out quite a bit of the latter half of the story.

I am terribly sorry if it has taken a long time for this update to go up. I have been horribly busy with schoolwork, what with thesis and research and all, so I hardly have time to sit down and write fan fiction. The next update might take a while to go up, but worry not: I do not plan to leave this story hanging in the air. The same goes for my _Mummy_ story too.

As always, thank you for your continued support and critique of both my stories. You are such a great help in many ways. I can only hope and pray for your patience regarding my very, very slow updating.

**galapagosbeetle** – Thank you for reviewing all the chapters individually! Not a lot of people have the same patience as you do, and it's very heartwarming to know that someone does such a thing.

And yes, Pullings is indeed infatuated with Mercy, and yes, he does deserve all the luck in the world, all things considered. Again, thank you very much for reviewing, and I hope that you will continue to read this story despite the fact that updates are very slow and sporadic.


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